Of the Obsessed and Abused
by Yay Ninja Bob
Summary: COMPLETE. SLASH. KyleStan. Kyle and Stan find their relationship, and possibly Kyle's life in jeopardy when young Ike begins to develop a rather unhealthy obsession. PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Prologue

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

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_**A/N: This prologue is written in a third person POV, but future chapters will be written in either Kyle or Stan's POV.

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**Prologue**

_--_

"_**Every true genius is bound to be naive."**_

_**-- Friedrich Schiller**_

_--_

To anyone, whether friend or stranger, it was obvious that Kyle and Ike Broflovski were not related by blood. In both appearance and behavior, the two brothers were nearly complete opposites. Kyle had curly, red hair that fell to his shoulders. He was average height for a young man his age, but was considered underweight by his physician, who constantly warned him that he was just one point away from being classified as "undernourished." It was likely a result from skipping dinner every other evening to study, surviving the night on an apple or one of the granola bars he kept handy in his backpack. The seventeen-year-old's green eyes were half the time fixed on a book, usually a required text from one of his AP classes; one of Kyle Broflovksi's goals was to graduate high school with enough credit towards college to be able to start as a sophomore. Because he usually had his nose in a book, it was hard for him to see where he was walking most of the time, and as a result, he wasn't the most graceful creature. He was clumsy, constantly tripping over his untied shoelaces, which he could not spare a moment to knot, for it would of course take too much precious time away from studying. In the end, if the whereabouts of Kyle Broflovski where at anytime unknown, it was likely that he was locked in his room with a book in one hand, and his other hand in his mouth, chewing on his fingernails, which had been a habit of his since he was a young boy.

The younger of the two Broflovski brothers, Ike, was another story. He was tall for a twelve-year-old, and just half an inch away from standing at the same height as Kyle. He had black, straight hair, that didn't have the slightest wave to it. He was extremely intelligent and was three years ahead in school compared to other children his age. His incredible progress in school was not achieved through studying like his brother though. He hardly opened his text books and almost never did his homework. The boy could really care less, but it wasn't as if he had to. He was after all a genius. Ike Broflovski was a genius and constantly reminded of this title by his parents, which in turned caused the boy to become one of the most egotistical and conceited persons alive. His blue eyes were big and always wide with wonder, either observing and analyzing everything around him, or staring off at nothing, lost in thought. As for the whereabouts of Ike Broflovski when he was missing, that location would always be a mystery. He was where he wanted to be.

Kyle and Ike Broflovski ate breakfast together on the morning of their first day of school. Kyle was beginning his senior year and Ike was beginning his freshmen year. Kyle watched his adopted brother from across the table, wondering what could be going on in his head. He noticed that Ike kept his eyes staring up at the ceiling as he shoved spoonful after spoonful of _Cheerios_ in his mouth.

"You nervous?" Kyle asked.

Ike looked at his brother, "No."

Kyle smirked, "It's alright to be nervous. I was nervous as hell about my first day of high school."

Ike rolled his eyes, and didn't bother to say anything.

Kyle sighed and finished the last of his cereal. He placed the empty bowl in the kitchen sink and then returned to the dining table to sit and wait for his brother to finish his own breakfast. When Ike finally finished, he gave no warning to his brother and simply stood up from the table, slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed outside.

Kyle quickly stood up from the table and stumbled after him. With quick steps, he made it outside before his brother and into the garage. He slid into the driver's side of his midnight blue 2001 Honda Accord that he had owned for maybe four or five months after his parents gave it to him as a birthday present. Kyle waited for his younger brother, who took his time walking to the car.

The ride to school was quiet. Kyle always found it hard to talk to his little brother, not really knowing much about him, and Ike never really bothered to talk to his older brother, not really finding anything worth while in him.

Kyle was unsure whether Ike would follow him around once they walked onto the campus. The boy after all didn't know anyone at school as a freshmen whose previous classmates were still in middle school. He didn't care whether his brother tagged along or not, and was actually favoring the idea, so that he would be able to keep a close eye on the kid who would probably fall victim to the bullying of the upperclassmen.

Once inside the school building, Kyle in fact found Ike at his side, with his curious eyes wandering every which way as usual. The school was pretty empty at that time in the morning. The majority of the few on campus were the poor souls that had zero period which began at seven o' clock in the morning. When the Broflovski brothers arrived, it was almost thirty past, and just half an hour before the first class of the day began, but Kyle made it a point to be at school early so that he could spend time with his boyfriend, Stan, who was required to be at school at the start of zero as senior class president.

Even though his brother lied told him that he liked to study before classes and that was why they had to be at school early, Ike knew that Kyle was there for Stan. He had it all figured out.

After each of them retrieved their books from their lockers, they headed to the ASB room, where they would find Stan. Ike had seen very little of his brother's boyfriend. After all, Kyle was leery on bringing the boy around the house, fearing that his parents would soon discover that their friendship was in fact a lot more than just a friendship. Which was a good thing, because Ike was convinced that his brother was completely hopeless when it came to keeping secrets; it only took ten minutes of pestering for a nine-year-old Ike to get his brother to admit that they were dating.

The tall, pretty boy, Stan Marsh sat on top of a long, high counter against the far wall of the room, flipping through a three inch binder filled with papers of who knew what. He wore head phones and listened to something with an obviously fast beat which was shown with the tapping of his feet and drumming of his fingers. He failed to notice the two as they entered the room, his crystal blue eyes glued to his work and his brow wrinkled in thought.

Kyle liked it when he found himself in a situation like this. Nothing was funnier than sneaking up behind Stan and scaring the shit out of him with a simple tap on the shoulder.

Startled, Stan nearly lost his balance on top of the desk. Once he saw a grinning Kyle, he tore off his head phones and shook his head with a laugh, "Bastard..."

They met with a brief kiss before Stan placed his headphones back on and picked up the binder once more. Kyle dropped his backpack to the floor and hoisted himself onto the counter next to Stan, opening his English anthology and beginning to read.

Ike stood there and watched the two for a while, wondering if that was the way things always were. He had imagined a different picture of the two. Hugging and kissing and telling each other "I love you." Ike was left standing there with a feeling that seemed to express, "That's _it?_"

The boy found himself wandering about the large room. There was a long table in the middle of the room, which was made up of numerous desks put together. Ike walked along side, reading off each silver name tag on the desk. He came to the end of the table and saw that at the very foot of the thing was Stan's desk. His name tag was gold and beside it was a wooden gavel. Ike picked it up and saw "President Stan Marsh, Class of '06" engraved on the handle.

"Don't mess anything up, Ike," Kyle warned from the other side of the room, "Put that down."

Ike opened his mouth to defend himself, but before he could say anything, he heard Stan speak, "It's alright. Go ahead, Ike," he smiled at the young boy, "Give it a bang," he motioned his head towards the gavel's platform.

Ike grinned at Stan and then at the gavel in his hand. He slammed it on its platform so forcefully, it caused his brother to yell, "_Be careful!_" But Ike paid no attention. He put the small hammer back down and then sat down at Stan's desk, admiring all the little things that were there. He flipped through assorted papers and tried each one of Stan's pens on his desk. He found a small, white teddy bear that he recognized right away, knowing that his brother owned one of the same; one of them had probably bought them for each other at some special occasion.

Kyle watched his brother from the corner of his eye, embarrassed of his curious behavior. Why couldn't the kid just sit still for once? He sighed and looked to Stan, "Are you staying after school today?"

Stan nodded, "Not too long, I hope."

Kyle bit at his thumb's nail, "Oh..."

"It shouldn't be longer than maybe half an hour... an hour at most."

"It's the first day. You already got that much work?"

"Yeah, I know. Things should slow down after the first week and it probably won't pick up again until Christmas time." He closed the binder he had and set it aside, pulling his headphones off once again. Stan watched his boyfriend nibble on each of his fingers, and frowned at the lack of eye contact he was getting from the redhead, "You're not mad at me for this are you?"

Kyle glanced sideways at Stan, "No, not at all. Why the hell should I be mad? There's nothing special about today after all..." he said with a shrug, flipping a page in his book, and continuing to gnaw away at his nails.

Stan sighed at the sarcastic remark, "I _know_ its our anniversary. I didn't forget. I'll be just an hour after school and then we'll hang out, alright?"

Kyle stopped biting his nails for a brief moment and nodded, "Alright." He paused and looked about the room for his brother, and found him staring at the wall which had the portraits of previous class presidents descending all the way back to the year 1964. "After school, I'll take Ike back home and then I'll come back and wait for you in the library."

"Alright."

"Ike! Don't touch!" Kyle panicked when he discovered his brother poking a trophy with his index finger.

Ike whipped around, "I'm being careful!"

Stan witnessed the two brothers roll their eyes at one another in unison and laughed to himself. "Hey, Ike. You wanna run for freshmen class office? Elections in two weeks."

Ike turned his eyes to the ceiling as he thought about this, "Maybe."

Kyle closed his book, "Like the freshmen class will elect a twelve-year-old..."

As if now challenged, Ike placed his hands firmly on his hips, "I'll run. And I'll win."

Kyle smiled, "Yeah, sure."

Ike glared at him and then returned his gaze to the portraits that hung on the wall.

"Where do you wanna go tonight?" Stan asked gently taking the hand Kyle was about to reassume chewing on and swinging it playfully.

"I dunno... Movies?"

Stan smiled and tightened his hold on Kyle's hand. The two rested their heads against one another's admiring the beauty of their fingers interlaced. Stan closed his eyes and turned his face to inhale the heavenly scent of Kyle's hair. "_Three years_," he whispered soothingly.

"I _know_," Kyle breathed in disbelief.

Both boys rested their foreheads against one another's, gazing lovingly into each other eyes. Ike watched curiously as their lips touch and then slowly part as they gently pulled away from one another.

Just as Stan hopped off from the counter, all three boys could hear the sound of closing footsteps and the sounds of many voices growing louder. Stan turned to Kyle, "The meeting's about to start."

Kyle nodded, "Alright," he said with a bit of a sigh and jumping from the counter. He threw his backpack back on and turned to Ike, "Come on, let's go to the library and wait for class to start."

"Why can't we stay in here?"

"_Because_. Stan's meeting is going to start."

"Can't we just watch?"

"_No_. Now come on, Ike."

­A group of about twenty ASB members were entering the room then, but Kyle's little brother didn't move when Kyle headed for the door. When he realized the kid wasn't following him he turned around and stomped his foot angrily at his brother.

"It's alright, Kyle. If he's quiet, it'll be fine. Besides, if he wants to be an officer, this could be good for him."

"I'll be quiet," Ike said quickly when he heard Stan say this from the other side of the room.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Fine." He paused and looked at his brother before leaving, "Please try and keep out of the way of things."

Ike sat down on the floor, with his back against the counter where Stan and Kyle were sitting previously and watched everyone taking their seats at their rightful desks. Stan stood at the end of the table at his own desk with his gavel ready in hand.

"Who's the kid?" a girl asked.

"Kyle's brother. He's a freshman."

Everyone's eyes glanced at Ike for a brief moment and then fell on Stan again. Stan used his gavel to scratch at his head of jet black hair, "So... can we start? Everyone here?" he looked to his secretary, Bebe, who nodded as she checked off the roll sheet. "Alright." Stan cleared his throat and looked about his fellow students who sat before him, "First day of school is today. I hope everyone remembered to wear their badges so that the new students and freshmen can identify you as an ASB member who can help them if they're lost or whatever."

"Is it alright if I wear the one I made?" Kenny grinned. He pointed at a piece of paper taped to his shirt in a amateur fashion, that displayed "Fuck off, Freshie" in his own writing.

"_No_." Stan sighed, "Be nice. Just for one day, Kenny. Just _today_, god dammit."

"I think Kenny shouldn't be allowed to wear any name tag," Wendy the class vice president said, "Some freshman is going to come up to him for help with finding a class, and Kenny will probably purposely send the poor kid off in the wrong direction."

"_No, I won't_," the blonde answered with much too big of a grin for anyone take seriously.

"Don't act so innocent," Wendy glared at him, "I propose a vote."

Stan sighed, "Fine. All in favor for banning Kenny from wearing a badge for the day?"

Everyone but Kenny responded, "Aye."

"All opposed?"

Silence.

Stan hit the gavel, "It has been decided. Kenny," he held out his hand, "give me your badge."

"God dammit, you guys suck..." he muttered throwing the pin down in Stan's hand.

As the meeting continued, Ike watched in his usual studious manner. From where the young boy sat on the floor, Stan seemed as tall as ever, giving the senior class president a bigger aura of respect and power. Ike for the first time noticed the excessive gestures Stan made with his hands. He also noticed how Stan would pause in his speech to think. He would stop and gently touch his head with his gavel, he would run his tongue over his lips, then leaving his mouth slightly opened in thought, as his blue eyes searched the ceiling. And then his eyes lit up and a small smile swept his face as he finally organized his thoughts and began talking once more. And when someone else was talking, Ike witnessed how Stan ever so slightly tilted his head to one side and wore the deepest look of concentration on his face, with his brow wrinkled and his lips pursed. He leaned his weight on one leg and rested his hands on his hips, and slowly nodded or shook his head, as his eyes wandered from the person who spoke, to the ceiling, and back to the person.

As he discovered new characteristic after new characteristic--ones that he had never seen on anyone else before-- Ike found himself giggling quietly in a shy and childish fashion which had been absent from him nearly all his life. And when on rare occasion, those blue eyes of Stan's would wander over to Ike and a small, kind smile would sweep Stan's face, Ike felt himself blush. When he saw the older boy look at him, he felt excited but strangely scared at the same time. He felt the urge to look quickly away, but found it impossible to tear his eyes away from something so beautiful as Stan. The way he spoke, moved, and looked was, to Ike, complete perfection.

But Ike didn't understand. How could Stan be with his brother when he could obviously do a lot better than the clumsy redhead? Coincidently, his brother Kyle pondered the same question. The only difference was that when Kyle asked himself the question, he felt almost afraid, seeing and fearing the ending of a three-year-old relationship. On the other hand, when Ike asked the same, he felt confident, and only saw opportunity.


	2. Chapter 1

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**Stan's POV**

**Chapter 1**

I watched him from where I sat beside him in Physics class. I was completely aware of the dreamy expression on my face by the way he would glance at me and blush, smiling behind his fingers as he chewed on his nails in his usual way. I couldn't help but stare at him and neglect my assignment for the day. I just couldn't believe that we had been together as a couple for three years.

* * *

When we were kids, we were the best of friends. We grew closer and closer over the years. I remember when we were nine, Kyle would come to my house in the middle of the night, about once a week. I would wake up at about midnight when I heard a tap at my window. I'd let him inside, and the two of us would play my Okama Game Sphere until the sun came up. He'd then sneak back home, only to return in a week's time to do it all over again. 

By middle school, those weekly visits turned into nightly visits, and there was no tap on the window. I'd only roll over in my sleep to find him beside me, sleeping peacefully. I never questioned it or gave it any second thought. It seemed as natural as the sunset.

One night, I woke up and found him beside me, only he wasn't asleep. He was laying on his side, and staring at me in a way I hadn't seen before. He gnawed on his nails as usual, but it was in more of an uncomfortable and nervous way, rather than easy and casual.

I stared back at him for a long time. "Is something wrong, Kyle?" I finally asked.

He continued to stare for a while, and then shook his head, and rolled over so that his back faced me. I heard him sigh deeply and I knew something was bothering him.

I inched closer to him and gently tapped his shoulder, "Kyle?" I sat up and leaned over him, "Dude?"

He turned onto his back and stared up at me and I wasn't sure if it was just me, but it looked like he was about to cry. Kyle just stared up at me, as if he was waiting for something.

I was so confused. What did he want? I stared at him, "What is it?"

He closed his eyes and sighed, "Nothing. Never mind." He turned so that his back was towards me again, and I gave up and went to sleep.

And that was the last of Kyle's midnight visits.

We were still best friends, but I couldn't help but be bothered by the fact that Kyle stopped coming over at night. I wanted to ask him about it, but I couldn't bring myself to. The fact of the matter was, I had grown more and more shy around him for some inexplicable reason. Not shy as in blushing and being strangely quiet. No, I talked. I played everything as normal as possible. But there were so many things that I wanted to ask, say, and do, but just couldn't. And I didn't know why.

Did I ever consider it might be because I was in love with him? Yes. The idea came and went many times, but I would quickly shake the thought from my head. Still, it didn't take long for it to come back. I'd wake up one morning after having a certain type of dream about my best friend, that wasn't the type I preferred. I'd then argue with myself in the basement as I scrambled to wash my bed sheets before the sun came up or my parents woke, so that I could avoid, quite possibly, the biggest embarrassments of my life. After a good hour of fighting with myself and when my bed was clean and made, I'd finally come to the conclusion that the whole thing was ridiculous, that it didn't mean anything, and was all a product of that ice cream I had before I went to bed. But then I'd go to school, and start fantasizing about kissing him while I merely watched him talk. He was just _talking_. How could talking drive me that completely insane? It did. It came to a point where I just couldn't _look_ at him for more than ten seconds at a time.

But I was stubbornly convinced. I couldn't be in love with Kyle. I just _couldn't_.

It was something that was getting out of control, and at last I thought I had devised a solution to it all. I needed a girlfriend. It was my first priority when I walked through those high school doors at fourteen years of age. By the first period, of the first class, of the first day of school, I found the girl I would use. I didn't even know her name, but she sat right in front of me in class. She had short, wavy, black hair and was cute from what I could tell. She had freckles, and I thought that was nice.

I passed her a note. _Hi, I'm Stan Marsh. What's your name? Do you want to go out sometime maybe?_

I handed her the note and watched her open it and look it over. I saw her smile, and I smiled. She looked over her shoulder at me and grinned before writing her response and handing the small paper back to me.

_I don't date metal mouths._

I stared at the note, feeling both hurt and embarrassed. My smile quickly left and I shut my mouth tightly, hiding my braces, and never wanting to show the hideous things ever again. The bell rang, and I was the first one out the door.

I saw her at my locker. She saw me too. She was surrounded by four other girls and they all laughed when she said something and pointed at me. I felt like crying as I turned around to open my locker.

"What's wrong?"

I glanced at Kyle who had just appeared. He stared at me with a concerned look. I opened the locker and threw my Biology book in angrily, "Nothing."

Kyle frowned as he opened his locker beside mine. "How was your first class?"

"Horrible," I admitted.

"Oh..." he turned to look at me, "Why? What's up?"

I don't know why I cried. Things tend to be a lot more emotional when you talk about them out loud. "_I hate this school_," I said clenching my fists, and feeling the tears start to build up, "_I fucking hate it!_"

Kyle blinked at me, frowning even more. "Why? What--"

"_Because!_" I shouted, feeling a tear slide down my right cheek. I couldn't talk anymore. I just didn't know what to say. I handed Kyle the note and he read it.

"Who did you ask out?" he said quietly.

I made a motion with my eyes at the girl. Kyle looked at her for a while and then laughed. I took it as an insult. "What the hell's so funny?"

"She said she doesn't date _metal mouths_, and she _desperately_ needs braces," he grinned.

I laughed and wiped at my eyes, "Yeah?"

"Dude, she's twenty feet away from me and I can clearly see she needs them."

I laughed a little more.

Kyle closed his locker, and I closed mine. "What do you need a girlfriend for anyway?" he asked.

"Because."

"Because _why?_" he stared at me.

I was doing it again. Right then, I could see myself kissing him. That was why. I felt myself blush and I quickly looked down at my feet. The warning bell rang, signaling that we had five minutes until our next class. I looked up and saw everyone disappearing into the classrooms around us, as the hall slowly emptied. "I dunno," I finally said after realizing that Kyle was still waiting for an answer.

I looked at him and he smiled a little. But I could see through it. I saw that behind that smile, he was wearing that old look again. That one that he wore on his last midnight visit, that had haunted me since, despite it happening over a year ago. He was waiting.

I just stared at him. I didn't know what I was supposed to say or do. I didn't know what he wanted. What the hell was he waiting for? I was too stupid to figure it out.

"Stan," he finally said after a while. And when I saw those lips move, I couldn't contain myself any longer. I finally gave in, and kissed him. It wasn't small either. It was big, like I had pictured it so many times before. It was mostly because I didn't even realize it wasn't a part of one of my fantasies, and that I was, in fact, _in_ _reality_, _kissing Kyle_. I dropped the books in my hands, grabbed him by the shoulders, and kissed him.

When I realized what I was doing some three seconds later, I felt my face go red, and I opened my eyes wide with shock. I was about to pull away, ready to apologize, when I heard a thump and saw that Kyle had dropped his books as well. He held me by the face and I felt his lips press harder against mine. He then quickly pulled away and gasped, quickly releasing my face and taking a step backwards.

I gulped, "What's wrong?"

"We're going to be late for class!" He ducked down, grabbed our books, took my hand, and we ran down the hall, making it just in time for our English class.

We'd been together ever since.

* * *

"Hey, Romeo," Cartman's voice interrupted my thoughts, "You wanna divert your attention somewhere else? Some of us would like to _not_ puke up our lunches today." 

I glared at him, "Shut up, Fatty."

He smirked and made a taunting kissy face at me. On instinct, I wadded up a piece of paper and flung it at him. The bell rang before the teacher had a chance to say anything, that was, if he saw anything.

It was the last class of the day, and Kyle and I walked hand in hand to our lockers. "So after I drop off Ike, I'll be waiting for you in the library."

"You don't have to wait for me there," I said as we came to our lockers, "I'll pick you up at home."

"With _what?_"

I rolled my eyes. He was always teasing me for not having a license or car yet. "What I _meant_ was that I would walk from school to your house, where we would get into _your_ car, and drive to the theaters."

"That takes up way too much time," he said stuffing his backpack with book after book.

"You just don't want me to go to your house..." I returned my last folder to my locker and closed it.

"Exactly," he said slamming his locker shut. "You show up and my parents ask us where we're going. _Why on a school night? You should study! Why is today so important? Why do you have to spend **today **with Stan? He's your **what?**_ **_And today is your WHAT?_**"

"Okay, okay," I said, "I get it."

Kyle threw his backpack on and leaned in quickly to kiss me, "Right. So I'll see you after your meeting, in the library."

"Do you want your present now or later?" I asked.

"_What?_" he exclaimed, "We both agreed that we weren't going to get anything for each other this year! And when I asked if that meant that we were just saying that, but were _expected_ to still get something, you said--"

"Calm down," I laughed a little. I loved it when he got all worked up like that. "It didn't cost me anything. It's from the heart."

I watched Kyle slowly smile and blush. "Well... I don't care."

"Give it to him now," his brother said from beside him. The twelve-year-old wore a curious look, as I had recently noticed he was accustomed to wear.

I nodded, "Yeah, alright." I reached into my back pocket and retrieved the paper which I had written one hundred reasons why I loved Kyle on it and handed it to him.

Kyle took it and grinned at the folded piece of paper excitedly. He kissed my cheek, "Thank you!"

I now blushed, "It's nothing."

"What is it?" Ike asked, trying to take it from his brother.

"Ike!" Kyle shouted, pulling it away quickly. He looked at me, "I'll read it when I'm in the library. When I'm _alone_," he looked accusingly at his brother who glared back at him. He gave me one last peck, and then turned and walked away, with his brother at his side, trying to reach for the paper once again.


	3. Chapter 2

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**Kyle's POV**

**Chapter 2**

Even though Stan's ASB meeting ended at four that afternoon, we weren't able to leave to the movie theaters, which was just down the street from our school, for another hour. After he came to get me, we left the library and were stopped by the vice principal who pulled Stan away from me for a talk. After that twenty minute ordeal, we were once again prevented from reaching the school parking lot by Stan's _Key Club_ advisor, and then again by some ASB friends of his, and then by a freshman who spotted Stan's nametag and had an endless supply of questions concerning his schedule. I was getting more and more impatient and annoyed by each interruption. I mean, it was our anniversary, and I think I had waited long enough.

I loved Stan, and I liked that he was so involved in school. His multiple authoritative offices he held throughout the school campus always gave me something to brag about. Maybe not _brag_, but something to a very similar effect. I never meant to brag, but when your boyfriend's the senior class president, president of _Key Club_, vice president of _Men's League_, captain of the Cross Country team, treasurer of the _Red Cross Club_, treasurer of _Environmental Club_, and a member of so many other organizations; well, its hard _not_ to enter a pep assembly, football game, or _any _school event without holding his hand tightly and wearing a look of _That's right, he's **mine**_.

I suppose that sounds a little snobbish and stuck up... I guess it _is_. It also sounds like I'm using the guy, but that's hardly the case. I would have no problem with being left out of the spotlight. I mean, if it wasn't for him being elected president freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior year, the majority of the school would have no idea of who the hell I was. With Stan, they did, but then again it's never been "Hey, there goes Kyle Broflovski." It's always "Hey, there goes Stan Marsh's boyfriend." _Stan Marsh's boyfriend_. It was something I was proud of, but I wouldn't mind if _Kyle Broflovski_ could make a name for himself eventually. Then again, that's a little hard to do when your only talent is managing to tame your frizzy head of hair every morning. I was number one in class rank, but nobody gave a rat's ass about that.

Besides, I loved Stan way before his fame. I loved him when he was simply that tall kid with braces, shaggy black hair, and a strong and strange obsession with that band, _Modest Mouse_. If Stan never became _President Stan Marsh_, nothing would change in my feelings for him. He was still Stan. Three years later, he may have gotten rid of the braces, but his hair was still messy and uncombed, and he still whistled the tune of _3rd Planet _every now and then.

"Sorry, Kyle," Stan said when the freshman he helped out had left, and the two of us had finally stepped off the curb and onto the pavement of the parking lot.

"It's alright," I replied with a half sigh, checking my wrist watch for the time. "We should be able to catch the six o' clock showing now. We missed the one I had planned for us to go to."

I looked at Stan and saw him smiling at me, "See? Reason number fifty-eight."

I laughed a little, remembering the list Stan had given me, which consisted of one hundred reasons why he loved me.

"You're amazingly forgiving."

We got into my car. I waited for Stan to buckle his seat belt, "And. Reason number seventy-one: You're always a step ahead."

I smiled at him and put in his beloved _Good News For People Who Like Bad News_ CD.

He grinned and gestured at the car's CD player, "And reason number twenty-three: You spoil me entirely too much."

I laughed as I pulled out of the parking lot, "Did you memorize that entire list?"

He smiled, "It was a tough, grueling process to organize all my feelings. It took many hours, and many cups of coffee for me to be able to scramble and finish it last night. How could I _not_ have it memorized?"

I blushed a little. "I wish you would have told me what you were up to. I don't have anything for you, and I feel so irresponsible."

Stan shook his head, "In all honesty, it was a last minute thing. I remembered that I would be after school, having you waiting for me, on our _anniversary_ of all days. I needed to come up with _something_ that would be an attempt to make up for my sorry ass."

We came at a red light and I took my eyes from the road to look at him. He had his head resting on the glass of the passenger window, fogging up the glass with his breath, and drawing little smiley faces with his fingers, as he was always accustomed to do. I smiled a little more. One of the things that I loved about him was that playful, childhood innocence he still managed to hold onto. "Did it work?" he asked, taking his sleeve and erasing his artwork, looking at me with those gorgeous blue eyes.

I nodded, "But you didn't have to do anything. I still wouldn't have minded that much. I understand that you have your duties."

"Yeah, but still." He sunk down in his seat, letting his head fall onto the window again, folding his arms, and blowing a puff of air to remove a stray strand of hair that had fallen over his eyes. "I felt bad making you wait for me."

The signal changed and I returned my eyes to the streets, "You shouldn't. I told you, I understand."

"Reason number thirty-three: You're understanding."

"We still have an hour before the show. Do you wanna eat now?" I glanced at him and saw him doodling on the window again, "Stan?"

"Sure," he said, "Where?"

"I dunno. Where do you wanna eat?"

"I dunno. Where do _you_ wanna eat?"

"_Stan_."

"What? I don't really care."

"I don't either."

We came to another stop light and I looked at him. He shrugged, "I don't care, Kyle. I really don't."

"Well, what do you _feel_ like eating?"

"I dunno," he tilted his head to the side, pursing his lips in that cute look of concentration he wore all the time.

"Are you even _hungry_?" I asked.

"Hmm..." he looked at me, "No. Not really. Are you?"

"No," I answered honestly.

"You," he said turning in his seat and pointing at me with an accusing finger, "are _never_ hungry."

I laughed.

"You scare me."

I laughed even more.

"You had nothing for lunch today, but a _Dr. Pepper_. Did you even _have_ breakfast?"

"_Yes._ I did."

He pretended to gasp.

The light changed from red to green, and I continued. "Stan, I need to know what we're doing or I'm just going to be driving in circles."

"Well, I think we should get a little something before you pass out or something."

"I'm not gonna pass out. I've had less."

"Well, you might. You never know, and we can't risk it. After all, we have to _both_ be there for little Milo's graduation."

I smiled. Stan was referring to Milo, our imaginary son.

* * *

One day Stan and I had gotten into a pretty bad argument and were even separated for a few days, though not officially broken up. The entire matter was over me not wanting to tell our parents about us. I wasn't ready, but Stan was. After three days of utter depression without Stan, he came back to me and apologized, promising that he would wait until I was ready. But stubborn me, didn't listen. I shut the door on him. I had just about given up. 

And all of a sudden he shouted "Milo!" out of nowhere. I remembered stopping in my tracks when he shouted that. After a short pause, I continued on up to my room.

"_Milo! What about Milo?_" Stan continued to yell through the door.

I opened the door after he screamed that about five times, wondering just what the hell had gotten into him. "What is _your __problem_, Stan? Who the fuck is _Milo?_" I demanded.

"_Who the fuck is Milo?_" he repeated as if insulted.

I remember being really annoyed. What the hell was he trying to pull?

And then he went on a long, endless ramble about this little boy with curly black hair, green eyes, freckles, and two missing front teeth. His name was Milo. He was a talented little artist, always coloring within the lines. He was smart and knew the entire alphabet and how to count to a hundred and even all the presidents of the United States. He was a bit of a shy boy, but not a complete loner, and always played nicely with the other kids at the park. He liked to dance, plant things in the garden, and look for bugs in the dirt, and his favorite ice cream flavor was Rocky Road, which he was prone to wear all over his face and clothes.

"_He's our son, Kyle. Our little Milo._ You're not going to leave me to raise him all alone, are you?" he had said and I stared at him, not knowing just how to respond to something like that.

He looked so serious and had his fingers laced together in a pleading fashion. After blinking dumbly at him with my mouth half open for the longest time, I finally just broke out in biggest fit of laughter I had ever experienced.

He repeated in all sencerity, "You're not going to leave Milo, are you?"

I slowly stopped laughing and shook my head, "No, no I'm not, Stan."

A grin swept his face, "You aren't?"

I stopped laughing and smiled, "No. Of course not." I giggled a little, "What kind of father would that make me?"

I laughed as he took me in his arms and kissed me. "Wait until I tell little Milo that Daddy Kyle is coming back."

And that was the birth of Milo, our imaginary son.

* * *

I paused, "We could just get some shakes at _In-and-Out_." I gestured at the restaurant in the distance. 

"_Yeah_," he grinned, his face lighting up. Stan loved his Oreo shakes.

"Okay," I said and we pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant.

* * *

A/N: Sorry, this took a while, and it's _really_ short, but it's all I can really spare time for this weekend. Lol, not a lot has happened yet, I know. Next chapter, we'll start getting to the point. I promise. 


	4. Chapter 3

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

_

* * *

_**A/N: Where did I get the name Milo? Well, Stan in this is a Modern Mouse fan, and it's supposed to be as if he got the name from the interlude piece ****entitled _Milo_**** by Modern Mouse which was on their last album. So that's where Milo came from, for you curious people out there. It really isn't anything too clever, lol.

* * *

**

**Stan's POV**

**Chapter 3**

I had a strange feeling that somebody was watching us. I decided against telling Kyle, because I had known him to be paranoid enough when it came to expressing our love in the backseat of his car. I was a little surprised that he had no objections with fogging up the vehicle's windows after the movie that night, but then again, it _was_ our anniversary.

But I regretted not saying anything. Kyle had just removed my shirt, when I heard a loud tap on the window just above my head, causing the two of us to jump with surprise, Kyle hitting his head on the roof of the car. At the noise, I immediately sat up, snatching my shirt from Kyle's hands, which he didn't even have the time to discard of before the interruption. "You okay?" I asked when Kyle had bumped the back of his head.

Kyle rubbed the spot, but ignored the question, leaning over me and rolling down the window, looking a bit anxious. There was a short pause as I witnessed the green eyes that belonged to my boyfriend widen with shock and then narrow with anger. "Ike! _What the fuck?_" he shouted.

I turned and saw Kyle's little brother, Ike. The twelve-year-old stood there with his bicycle pulled to his side. The kid's eyes fell on me and I blushed, being embarrassed by my half naked state.

"_Ike?_" Kyle again demanded angrily as I pulled my shirt back on.

"Can I have a ride home?" Ike asked innocently. He gestured at his bike, "I got a flat."

"_What the hell are you doing out here anyway?_"

"What the hell are _you_ doing out here, Kyle?" the raven haired kid responded without missing a beat.

Kyle blushed. "You- You know it's our anniversary," he stumbled over the words, making it obvious that he was embarrassed about being caught in the act by his little brother.

"Can I get a ride or not?"

Kyle looked at me apologetically. "It's okay, Kyle," I said, opening the door to step out. It really wasn't _okay_. I didn't like that the night was ending with such an ordeal as this one. I had imagined it much differently. Much more romantic.

I got into the passenger seat of the car, hearing Ike ask Kyle for help putting his bike into the trunk of the car. He asked for "help" but the boy handed the bike over to his brother and climbed into the backseat of the car with a stressful sigh, as if he was the one being bothered with work, when it was Kyle who was struggling with the kid's bicycle in the back.

I was about to leave to help Kyle, but was stopped by a sarcastic comment made by Ike behind me: "This is a pretty romantic spot for an anniversary."

I turned around and faced him.

"The parking lot of the theaters. _Nice_."

I opened my mouth to defend me and Kyle's choice of location.

"But," he interrupted before I had the chance, "I imagine the places where the two of you can _get busy_ are limited, seeing as you have to hide this whole thing from your families."

"Exactly," I said.

"And who's fault is that?"

I looked at the boy.

"You two can't hide it forever."

"I know," I admitted. "But Kyle--"

"_Isn't ready yet_," he finished for me, saying the words in a mocking tone.

"It's not his fault," I defended. "He just isn't ready. The time will come."

"When?"

Good question.

He smiled slyly, as if sensing the doubt that I shamefully hid inside me. The boy folded his arms and fell back against the seat, "Yeah."

"_God Dammit!_" I heard Kyle curse at the bike from behind.

I went and helped him lift the contraption into the trunk of the car. When we closed the hood, Kyle let out a big sigh. "I am _so_ sorry, Stan," he said glancing annoyingly at his brother.

I smiled reassuringly, "It's fine, Kyle." My eyes traveled up to the stars and then settled back on him, "It's late anyway. We should get home."

He stared at me with a frown on his face.

"It's _okay_," I insisted.

"Yeah?"

"Kyle there was nothing you could do to prevent this," I tried to make him feel less guilty, "It's not like you could have told your brother 'Hey, come back later. Me and Stan gotta have our happy anniversary fuck.'"

He laughed, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. I embraced him in a kiss, not realizing when I did it. Something about a blushing and giggling Kyle always triggered a kiss from me on instinct. It was completely uncontrollable.

He pulled away and gave me a peck on the cheek, before the two of us returned to the car to leave for home.

After Kyle dropped me off at my house, I worked on my homework for a couple hours, took a shower, and then went to bed.

I couldn't sleep. I felt guilty or something. I couldn't really tell what exactly I was feeling. I just felt as if I needed to do something... something more with Kyle. The way the night ended was bugging the hell out of me, and so I threw my jacket on over my pajamas, slipped on my shoes, and left to Kyle's.

When I reached his house, I crept around to the back to where his window was. I went to open it and found it locked shut. "Crap," I muttered to myself. I tapped on the window, looking around the darkness that surrounded me, "_Kyle_," I tapped on the window again a little harder.

He wasn't answering. I tried to peek through the window, but I couldn't see anything. I waited for a while and then tried again, "_Kyle? Kyle._"

After about ten minutes of rapping on the window and calling his name, I was starting to get a little worried. He _had_ to have heard me.

I started to panic, as a million horrible thoughts flooded my head. _Oh God, this was how these things happened. It's a happy, joyous occasion and then tragedy strikes..._

"Stan?" the voice never sounded so relieving.

I turned around and sighed, "Kyle, oh thank God."

He walked up to me, his hands wrapped around himself for warmth. Like me he wore his jacket over his pajamas. He looked a little worried, "What's wrong?"

I shook my head and laughed a little at myself for being so paranoid, "Nothing." I paused, "What're you doing out here?"

He smiled, "I just came back from your house."

"My house?"

"Yeah, and you were no where to be found," he grinned, shaking his head, "You should lock your window next time."

I laughed a little more. I couldn't believe the two of us had the same exact idea. "Why? Did you steal something? A pair of underwear for your perverted pleasure?"

Kyle laughed in that blushing way of his, hiding his mouth behind his fingers, and I kissed him on usual instinct.

He then took my hand, and I followed him into his house. When he opened the front door, he pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for me to be quiet, before we continued on inside and to his room.

His room was dark, but he continued to lead me by the hand to his bed. I took off my jacket and slipped off my shoes before I joined Kyle under his warm bed covers. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close. I heard him sigh heavily as he nuzzled his face into my chest.

I went to kiss him, but he stopped me. "_Stan_," he yawned, "My parents are two rooms over. We can't _do_ anything."

I frowned, but Kyle couldn't see it in the dark. "It's been three years," I said quietly after a few minutes of silence.

"_Mmhmm_."

"Have you... thought about... you know..."

"What?"

"Coming out to our parents..."

"Oh."

I waited for a while for more of an answer, but Kyle was quiet. "So... you haven't?"

There was a long pause, "Well, I thought about it, of course, yes, but..."

"_But_...?"

"I just... I dunno, Stan. I just... I dunno."

"Well, when do you think we should tell them?"

"I dunno..."

"It's been three whole years, and I think if they know that we've been together--"

"Stan, I dunno..."

"Kyle, it'll be okay if--"

"Stan. I don't... want to... Not now. Please?"

I felt like crying for some reason, "Yeah," my voice cracked, "Okay."

Kyle heard it. I felt him softly caress my face with a gentle finger, "_Stan_..."

"I _love_ you, Kyle," I fought back tears, "and I... I don't know what to do. I really want to tell our families. I just..." I took a deep breath, "Two years ago, when we first talked about this, I said I would wait, and I have... I've _been_ waiting and I... don't want to anymore."

"_Stan_..."

I was quiet. I felt that if I started to talk again, I would start crying. Besides, I made my point. I wanted to tell our families about us. That's all there was to it.

"Soon," he said after a long period of silence.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

I don't think Kyle realized it, but that promise was the best anniversary gift he could ever have given me.

* * *

I woke up at around five that morning, just as I had trained myself to do over the years. I stayed in bed with Kyle for a while, enjoying the gentle sounds of him sleeping. It was still dark, but there was just enough light so that I could see him laying beside me. He was on his side, facing me, with one hand tucked under his head for comfort and another stretched out so that his fingers loosely grasped the long sleeve of my night shirt. He always clung to me in his sleep like that. It wasn't as if he was close and pressed up against me with both his arms wrapped tightly around me so that I could hardly breathe; he simply had a gentle clasp of my shirt. I guess he just liked the assurance of me being there while he slept. 

I wondered if I should wake him before I left for home. As I went to sit up in bed, the hold he had on my sleeve tightened, and he snagged me back down. "What time is it?" he muttered sleepily with his eyes still shut.

"About five," I answered trying to sit up again, but he pulled me down once more.

He muttered something that I couldn't make out in his half asleep speech.

I laughed a little, "Kyle, I have to get home and get ready for school."

Again he muttered something.

"What?"

He moaned sleepily, "_Nooo_." He scooted closer and now clung onto my shirt with both hands.

I smiled at him, "Just go back to sleep. I'll see you at school, okay?"

More muttering.

"What?"

He let go, rolled over from his side to his back, and he stretched, letting out another tired moan, "_No_." He rubbed at his eyes as he sat up, "I'm awake."

I sat up and then gently pushed him back down and kissed his forehead, "Go to sleep."

He resisted and stubbornly sat up straight, "I'm up. I'm awake," he said prying his eyes open.

I pushed him down with more force, the two of us laughing as we turned it into a war. I pushed Kyle down and he sat up and pushed me away. I then pinned him down with both hands and held him there as he squirmed to get up again, "_Go to sleep_," I said as if it were a demand and I shook him in a playful manner while he laughed.

"_Shhh_," Kyle said with a giggle and pressing a finger to his lips, as if _I_ was the one making the loud laughing noises he was making, and pushed me off him. He covered his face with his hand, muffling the last of his laughter until he had it under control. He sat up, "I need to do some studying anyway," he said with a yawn, "And then maybe listen to some relaxing music, watch the sunrise, write in my journal... I should really wake up this early more often," he smiled.

I smiled, "Okay." I then kissed him goodbye and left for home.

Kyle met up with me in the ASB room later that morning when zero period was maybe twenty minutes in. At the moment, I was a bit busy with Butters, the class treasurer, and didn't notice Kyle as the two of us reviewed the budget we had concerning the back-to-school dance.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I jumped a little with surprise. I don't know why I was always surprised when Kyle did that to me just about every morning. I should have learned to expect it over the years. I turned around and he kissed me before I got to finish my "Hello."

"Is it busy this morning?" he asked looking around the frantic room.

"Unfortunately, yeah," I frowned, "Looks like I'll be here for all of zero."

He sighed, "Alright. I'll just go to the library then."

"Go to the cafeteria and get some breakfast for once," I smiled.

He rolled his eyes, "I ate breakfast this morning already."

"Wow. Breakfast _two_ days in a row?"

He laughed, "I wasn't planning on eating, but Ike made both of us breakfast today. And a big one too."

"Big? Do you mean _more_ than just a piece of toast?"

"_Two_ pieces of toast, _and_ eggs, _and_ potatoes--"

"And you miraculously didn't explode?"

He hit me playfully, "I'll see you second period," he said leaving.

But second period came and I was waiting in my seat for Kyle, who usually sat beside me in class, and the bell rang, and he wasn't there. It wasn't like Kyle to be late. I thought that maybe he had trouble opening his locker or perhaps he stayed after first period to talk to the teacher.

Kenny, who sat in front of me, came into class about a minute after the bell, and handed our teacher a note before sitting down in front of me. I knew that he shared first period with Kyle and I questioned him, "Do you know where Kyle is?"

He turned in his seat to face me, glanced at the teacher who was busy with the roll sheet, and then looked back at me. The look he gave me caused me to hold my breath as I sensed something bad coming. "Nurse's office," he answered.

"What? Why?"

"He wasn't feeling good and he asked to be excused to the bathroom. After Mrs. Mayla decided that he was taking too long, she had me go and make sure everything was okay. He puked and so I walked him to the nurse's."

"Is he okay?" I asked worriedly.

Kenny shrugged.

"Well did he look alright? Does it seem serious?"

"Dude, I'm not a doctor, how should I know? I don't. He puked. That's what happened."

I didn't see Kyle during break, and at the beginning of lunch, I knew that he had gone home for the rest of the day. I was really worried about him though. "Cartman, lend me your car keys, Dude," I asked him when I spotted him in the halls at the start of lunch.

"Why?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"So I can go check on Kyle."

"Screw that. He's fine. Besides, you don't even have your fucking license! Not even a permit!"

"I know how to drive, Fatty," I said, "Come on, lend me your keys. Or else," I warned, "I won't slip you anymore free snacks and drinks from the student store."

He glared at me and reached into his pocket. He tossed me the keys, "I hate you. Both of you."

I guess I was taking it all a little too seriously. I mean, he was sick, but it could very well have been nothing. It probably _was_ nothing. I was always one to assume the worst. Especially when it came to Kyle. I just couldn't help it. I dreaded the thought of ever losing him.

When I reached Kyle's house, I was greeted at the front door by his mother. "Oh, Stan, what a surprise!" she exclaimed.

"Hi, Mrs. Broflovski," I greeted as she showed me inside. "How's Kyle doing?"

"Oh, his stomach is a bit upset, and he's got a slight fever," she explained to me as she headed towards the kitchen with me following. "I was just going to see if he was awake yet from his nap, and then give him his lunch." She went to the counter and set a bowl of warm soup on a tray along with a spoon, neatly folded napkin, and a glass of apple juice.

"I'll take it to him for you," I offered.

She smiled kindly, "Thank you, Stan. Kyle is so lucky to have such a caring friend like you."

I simply returned a smile and proceeded to take the tray to Kyle's room. When I came to the open doorway of his room, I found Kyle not to be asleep, but sitting up in bed and flipping through his Calculus book, and of course biting on his fingernails as usual. Aside from his face looking a little red and feverish, his illness didn't see to phase him as he skimmed over problem after problem. "Hey, how you feeling?" I asked walking in and setting the tray at his bedside.

When he saw me, he smiled a little as if expecting my visit, folded the page he was on, closed the book, and set it beside him. "Hey."

I sat at his feet, "How you feeling?" I repeated.

He smiled reassuringly, "I'm okay." He sat up a little straighter, "After I vomited for a second time, I slept a little, and I feel better now."

I smirked, "What'd it take for them to get you to leave the school?"

Kyle grinned. He didn't answer, but I knew that there had to have been an argument between him and the nurse over sending him home. I'm sure it was a curve ball for the old women, seeing as she usually had the student pleading to go home, rather than pleading to stay at school.

"I think I should be back at school tomorrow," he said.

"That's good," I nodded.

"Can you--"

"I know. Pick up your assignments for you."

He nodded with a grin.

"Don't worry, I'll get them."

"Thanks," he paused, "Stan... how'd you get here?"

"I took Cartman's car."

"You _drove_?"

I nodded.

"_Stan!_"

"What?" I laughed a little.

He lowered his voice, "That's breaking the law."

I shook my head, chuckling a bit, "It wasn't even a mile's drive."

"_Still_."

"Well," I smiled, "I _had_ to make sure you were okay."

"You could have just called."

"I had to _see_ that you were okay," I said. "If I called, whose to say that there wouldn't be some... some... _alien_ or _something_... _pretending_ to be you over the phone?"

He shook his head with a smile, "You're so weird."

"It's possible. Aliens that are like trying to take over Earth. They had you prisoner on their ship and were trying to get your DNA code or... whatever... and then make one of them _look_ like you, so they could take over your life... or... something..."

He laughed, "You're so weird," he repeated.

"But you love me, right?"

"Of course," he laughed.

"Aha. Reason number eleven: You openly admit that I'm weird, yet you _still_ love me," I grinned as I stood up. "I'll come over right after school to give you your precious homework, and to make sure you're doing better and not showing any signs of alienness."

"Is _alienness_ even a word?" he laughed.

"It is now," I chuckled, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Feel better."

"Thanks."

Even though Kyle had said that he would be better by the next day, and then confirmed it once more when I had visited him after school, he wasn't. The next day, he wasn't at school again, and I knew, from personal instinct, that something serious was happening.


	5. Chapter 4

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**Kyle's POV**

**Chapter 4**

After I hadn't stopped puking over a course of three days, and my temperature had risen to a somewhat dangerous level of 102 degrees Fahrenheit, my mother took me to see a doctor to figure out what was wrong with me. By then, my throat was extremely swollen and sore from vomiting and I could barely talk in raspy, weak whispers. I seemed to throw up after breakfast and then after dinner. It was the same thing every day. I'd vomit a few times in the morning and then sleep. I'd wake up in the afternoon, feeling a little better, but by the time I had dinner, I puked up everything that was left in my stomach. By the third day, I was at nearly constant hurt, for my stomach pained horribly. I was so drowsy that I couldn't force myself to stay up for more than an hour or two at a time. My head was heavy, and constantly pounding, and I couldn't take an aspirin for it because the small tablet seemed to knock me out so hard that when I took it for the first and last time, I woke up some thirteen hours later to find that I had vomited all over myself; if I had fallen asleep on my back, rather than stomach, I probably would've choked to death.

Stan, who had found me in that state, broke down crying. He told me over and over again, "_Something's wrong, Kyle. _I have a _really_ bad feeling. Something _terrible_ is happening to you. It _isn't_ the flu." It was basically all he said in his short visits. He was only there for maybe ten minutes at a time, because my mother would have him leave saying that I might get him sick. I was convinced though, that he was overreacting.

On the Friday morning of my fourth day of illness, I woke up to hear tapping on my window. I looked and saw Stan standing there outside. I smiled and weakly pulled myself up.

He breathed on the window, creating a small fogged patch, and wrote "I MISS YOU" with his finger, except it was backwards from where I saw it. He realized this after seeing my slightly confused expression, smacked himself on the forehead, erased it with his sleeve and rewrote it correctly in bigger letters, taking extra time on the _S's_, to figure out the mirror logistics of it all.

"Me too," I mouthed to him through the window.

He drew a sad face.

I laughed a little and then nodded with frown.

He breathed on a new spot on my window, just below the last message, and wrote, "MILO TOO."

I smiled, "Me too."

He smiled weakly at me through the window for a long time, and I stared back at him. I really did miss him. I missed him holding me, and feeling his warmth. I missed his kisses, his hugs, and the way he'd playfully tickle me at times. If it felt that bad then, how bad would it feel if we were ever separated for an even longer period of time... or _forever_? I shuddered at the thought.

Stan held up a finger, signaling for me to wait, and I knew he was coming inside then.

I smiled as best I could when he came inside my room, "Hey." My voice was barely audible.

Stan looked like he was going to cry and he walked over to me, silent. He sat beside me on the bed and he sniffed loudly as a single tear fell from his eye. He held my face and combed his fingers through my hair, staring me in a way that made myself want to cry.

"Stan, you're getting upset over nothing."

His lip quivered and he took a deep, shaky breath to contain himself, "It _isn't_ nothing. It's been _three days _and you're not getting any better."

I shook my head. I sighed deeply, feeling extremely tired, and I fell back on my pillows. "You were supposed to be at school half an hour ago."

"The other officers can handle everything for one morning. Besides, it's Friday."

"Stan, you can't let this stupid flu of mine get in the way of your school work."

"You sure you're seeing a doctor today?"

"Yes, for the millionth time. My appointment's at nine." My head suddenly jolted with a sharp pain and I winced.

Stan frowned and scooted closer to me on the bed.

I gently pushed him away, "Stan, you should really go. I'm gonna give it to you if you stay in here too long."

"I've visited you three times a day all this week, and I haven't caught anything. I don't think it's contagious."

"Breakfast," my brother said as he entered the room with a tray of food. Ike had been really nice to me while I was ill. He served me breakfast and dinner every day, and I bet if he didn't have school, he'd serve me lunch as well.

"Thanks, Ike," I smiled at him. I noticed that he wore a jacket that was once mine and I had handed down to him about a year ago. When I gave it to him he said that it was ugly and I suppose he wore it that morning in an attempt to make me feel better. I guess he wasn't such a pest after all.

He smiled, "Eat up. You need your strength."

"That's right," Stan agreed.

I really didn't see the point in eating, if I was just going to barf it all up, but I nodded and took the tray onto my lap. Ike left the room and I looked up at Stan who stood up now. "How's he doing?"

"Ike? Oh, good I suppose. I've been spending lunch with you, so I only catch him during break."

"He's not getting bullied is he?"

Stan shook his head, "No. Actually, Kenny has him under protection," he laughed a little. "Of course, Kenny's messing with him half the time, but he's made it a point with practically the whole school that if anyone messes with his _favorite freshie_, they're messing with him."

I laughed a little. "That's good. I'm not too sure what kind of influence Kenny would be, but at least he's not getting stuffed into lockers."

Stan sat back down beside me, taking a spoonful of some scrambled eggs on the plate. He held it out in front of my face and kept it there until I sighed and opened my mouth, and he popped the spoon inside so that I ate.

"I can eat on my own," I said as I watched him scoop another spoonful of food.

He shook his head, "I saw that look you had. You were going to say you'd eat, but when I left, you were planning to toss the food away."

I frowned and ate the spoonful he held out. It was the truth, but I couldn't help it. I really didn't feel like eating. Just the smell of food made me feel nauseous.

"Remember to be completely honest with the doctor," Stan advised as he continued to spoon feed me, "He has to know what's happening in detail so that he can make an accurate diagnosis."

I felt my stomach churn and I pushed the spoon Stan held out away from me.

Stan frowned and scooted closer, moving the spoon forward again, "_Come on, Kyle._ You _have_ to eat."

I winced as I ate what he held out. As soon as I swallowed it, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach and I gasped loudly, wrapping my arms tightly around myself. I moaned loudly as I rocked back and forth, trying to get rid of the pain. It felt as if my insides were tightening and on the verge of implosion. It was the worst pain I had experienced over the course of my illness and I could feel myself starting to tear up.

Stan rubbed my back and held me close, rocking back and forth with me, "_Are you okay? What's wrong?_" he asked in a panicked voice.

"_My stomach..._" I moaned. The tightening increased with a sharp jab in from inside and I cried out with pain, "_Stan! I don't wanna eat anymore!_"

"_It-It's okay!_" he said even more panicked, standing up quickly and throwing the tray of food aside, before returning to my side to wrap a comforting arm around me. "_It's fine. You'll eat later. It's fine, Kyle._"

I cried freely now. It hurt so bad, I just couldn't stand it. Amidst all the sharp jerking from my insides, I felt sharp pains in my head as well. I didn't know which to pay more attention to, and I could feel myself grow more and more dizzy. I felt like I was going to pass out, but I couldn't let myself. Stan didn't need to be anymore worried and scared than what he already was.

I felt Stan's hold on me loosen and he scooted away from me a little, "_Mrs. Broflovski, he-he's in a lot of pain! A lot!_"

I looked up and saw my mother entering the room with my brother after her. I still clenched my stomach and rocked back and forth, moaning and crying. Stan stood up and my mom took his place at my side. I felt her kiss my forehead which was drenched with sweat now and she squeezed me tightly. "It's going to be alright soon, Kyle," she said soothingly, "The doctor will make it better and give you something to help..."

"He's going to the doctor's?" I heard my brother question, "Why? It's just the stomach flu or something. He doesn't need medical help. He just needs to eat and rest."

Then I couldn't hold it any longer, and I passed out.

* * *

I was half asleep when I felt somebody lift me up and I knew that they were carrying me somewhere. I finally roused myself to a fully conscious state when I felt them lying me down some place. It was Stan, and he was sitting me in the backseat of my mom's car. He smiled at me weakly before closing the door. 

I saw my mother get into the driver's seat of the car, and Stan went around to the other side and slid into the car beside me. I looked at him, "What's going on?" my voice said weakly.

"We're going to your appointment now."

"Wha-Why are you here?"

"I'm helping your mom," Stan answered, "You're so weak, who knows if I'm going to have to carry you inside."

"But school--"

"Fuck school. Your my--" he stopped and I saw him glance at my mom, "...best friend."

I smiled a little. I wished that I could kiss him, but first off, I was sick and didn't want to get him sick, and secondly, my mother would've seen it.

We reached the hospital some fifteen minutes later. I felt a lot more alert then, and I was able to walk on my own, although Stan helped me a little with his hands grasped tightly onto my shoulders as he walked beside me.

We took the elevator to some high up level, and then walked down an endless hall to some door. We went inside and before Stan could help sit me down in a chair, the nurse announced that the doctor was ready for me.

We went into a white tiled room, with white walls and cabinets. The only real color that appeared to be in the room was from a poster which had a diagram of the human body. It was cold in there too and I shivered as Stan helped me onto the examining table.

"Go ahead and lay down," the nurse who showed us in advised me.

I nodded and lay on my back on the cushiony service that was decorated with a single thin, white sheet of paper. I stared up at Stan who smiled down at me. I could tell that he was nervous and worried. He was so weird to be so upset over something like this. I was somewhat glad that he came. Then he could hear first hand, that there was nothing seriously wrong with me. I turned my head to see the doctor come inside, "Hello, Kyle."

"Hi," my raspy voice replied.

Dr. Sweet had been my physician since childhood, as well as Stan's and every other kid in South Park. I suppose he was a nice doctor.

Dr. Sweet came to the side of the table, "So, your stomach has been upset, has it?"

I nodded as I watched him take out his stethoscope and equip it appropriately, "How does it feel?" he asked as he slipped the cold metal piece under my shirt and pressed it against my chest, "Deep breath, Kyle."

I breathed deeply and then answered, "I dunno. I just feel sick all the time... after I eat, I have to throw up..."

"After you eat?"

I nodded.

"Okay..." he said returning the stethoscope to his coat. He took out a thermometer, "Open up." He placed the thing under my tongue and walked away from me, to a counter at the opposite end of the room.

"He has real bad headaches too," Stan added.

The doctor turned around and faced him, writing things down on a clipboard, "Does he?"

Stan nodded, "And he's been sleeping a lot. Too much, I think."

The doctor put the clipboard down and returned to where I lay. He lifted my shirt and started to feel around my stomach, "Let me know if anything hurts. Okay, Kyle?"

I nodded. I felt him press down on different areas, but I didn't feel any pain.

"Nothing?" he questioned.

I shook my head.

He took the thermometer from my mouth and looked at it. He shook his head, "102. That's not too good, Kyle." He took a stool and sat down in front of me, "Describe the pain some more. Where do you feel it?"

"In my stomach..."

"Where in your stomach?"

"I dunno... like all around. I feel nauseous most of the time, but sometimes it's just like jolts of pain... they're really sharp and they've been worse and worse lately."

"How often do you vomit?"

"A couple times after breakfast and then again after dinner."

"What have you been eating?"

I shrugged, "I dunno. Soup mostly. Or that's usually for lunch and I seem to be fine with keeping that down. It's just breakfast and dinner."

"Is there something that you're having at both breakfast and dinner? Perhaps an expired drink or something?"

I shook my head, "No, I don't think so."

"Well," the doctor said scratching at his head, "There are a lot of things that can cause nausea and vomiting... the stomach flu or gastroenteritis, food poisoning, acute non-gastrointestinal infections, any obstruction of the stomach..."

"We thought it was just the stomach flu," my mother said.

The doctor nodded, "It could be. It usually doesn't stick around for more than three days though, and that's what worries me. But," he said looking me in the eye, "I know you, Kyle, for already being on an unhealthy diet. Remember when you were last here and I warned that if you didn't start eating better, that your undernourishment can cause some problems with simple things like the cold, influenza, or perhaps in this case, gastroenteritis."

I nodded, "Yeah..."

"So, knowing your history, I do believe that it is just the stomach flu, and that your body's lack of nutrition is just taking a little longer to fight it off. However, we can't take any chances, especially with your risky fever, so we're going to test for something that may be a little more serious."

"What could it be? How serious?" Stan asked.

"You're having cramping abdominal pain, correct?" the doctor asked me.

I nodded, "Yeah."

"Earlier he had such bad pain, he passed out," Stan said.

The doctor looked from Stan to me.

I nodded, "Yeah... It really hurt."

He paused, "I would say we should have a blood test for gall bladder, pancreas, and liver problems. These are commonly associated with vomiting after meals, flu-like symptoms, and abdominal pain. Those can become some pretty bad problems if we don't catch them soon."

I gulped, "...Okay."

I looked at Stan and saw his eyes wide, "How-how serious are these problems?"

The doctor smiled at Stan, "I'm sure Kyle is fine." He looked at me again, "The results to your blood test will take two to three days. In the meantime, you have to drink a lot of fluids. _Tons_. I suggest _Gatorade_. Get plenty of rest, and you must try and eat. If you feel nauseous, don't force it. Wait and then eat, alright? And stay away from any dairy products. Fluids, rest, eat. Got it?"

They took me down a few levels to get my blood test done. Stan still assisted me in walking; he hadn't left my side all morning. When they tied my arm with that tourniquet cord and pulled out the needle, I saw Stan's eyes widen, causing me to giggle a little. As they extracted the blood from my arm, I watched his face go white and I thought he was going to faint.

I held a cotton ball over the spot where they took the blood and smiled at the unblinking Stan, "You okay?"

He slowly nodded, "Uh huh."

I laughed a little, as did the nurse and my mother. Poor Stan.

* * *

I was really tired by the time we got home at around eleven. My mother went to the market to go purchase some _Gatorade_, as the doctor suggested. Stan stayed with me. I wished then that he hadn't gone with me to see the doctor, because it only resulted in him being even more worried about me. He went to my kitchen and checked the expiration date on _everything_. He told me he was going to go get some juice for the two of us, but when he was taking some twenty minutes on the task, I went to check on him and found him tearing through the cupboards. 

He turned a can of soup over and over, "Is this what you're having?"

"Yeah."

He inspected it carefully and put it aside and continued to check every little thing.

"Stan, there's nothing wrong with my family's food. If there was, then why am I the only one getting sick?"

Stan shrugged, "Maybe they're not eating what you are, or as much of whatever it is as you are..." he snapped his fingers, "Salt."

"Salt?"

"Admit it, you're a salt freak."

I was. "Does salt expire?"

"I dunno," he said as he went to another cabinet to inspect the salt. He got to a rack of assorted spices. My family had numerous amounts of salt shakers and Stan studied each one. He took one and held it so that it poured into his hand, and then licked it up, pausing to reflect over the taste, and repeated the process with each shaker.

I sighed, "Stan, there isn't anything wrong with the salt." I watched him take the last salt shaker from the rack and inspect it.

He returned it to its place and looked throughout the cabinet, "Is that all the salt you have?"

"I dunno. I guess so. It's all there, or should be."

"_Aha!_" he suddenly exclaimed causing me to jump a little. He turned around and held out another salt shaker, "This one was hiding!"

I shook my head, "Then we probably don't use that one."

He ignored me and turned the shaker upside down over his palm, letting it rain salt onto his hand. He licked it and cringed and then gagged.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He wiped at his tongue, "It's sour."

"It is?"

"See?" he said, "This one's bad."

"I don't think salt can expire, Stan."

"Well this one's bad."

"It's just your imagination."

"No. This salt is bad." He walked over to the counter that I leaned on and held the shaker upside down so that it poured salt into a small pile onto the green tile of the counter. He sat the shaker aside and pressed his face close to the pile. His brow wrinkled with concentration and he poked the stuff with a finger, "This salt... looks blue..."

"No it doesn't. Stan, you're just being paranoid."

"It's blue! Look!"

I sighed and leaned in next to him, "It's just the green surface that makes it look a different color."

Stan shook his head. He took stuck some salt to his fingers and rubbed it together, feeling the texture, "It's real powdery too. It should feel more grainy."

"Stan, nothing is wrong with the salt."

"Fine. I'll have some with my lunch then."

I paused for a moment, "There's nothing wrong with it."

"Right, I know." He walked to the cupboard and pulled out two soup cans.

As I watched him heat up two bowls of soup, I heard my mother come into the house, returning from the market. She came to the counter I leaned on and set down a bag of groceries. "What're you doing out of bed?"

"Stan's making us lunch."

She pulled out two big gallons of _Gatorade_ and took them to the fridge. I peered into the paper bag to pull out the rest of the items. I took out a box of tissues, a tube of toothpaste, and a canister of _Ajax_. "Put the _Ajax_ under the sink for me, would you, Kyle?"

"Okay," I said and went to place it next to another canister that was there. I picked up the old one to move it aside and felt that it was light, "Ma, should I throw out the old one?"

"Is it empty?"

"I think so."

"That's odd, I thought there was at least half of it left. Alright, go ahead," she said taking the toothpaste from the counter and leaving the kitchen.

I took the empty _Ajax_ and tossed it in the trash bin. I saw Stan, who just sat the two bowls of soup down on the counter, pouring an excess amount of salt into one bowl. I laughed a little, "You're being really weird, Stan. Even more than usual."

He shook his head, "You'll see, Kyle. I _know_ it's the salt. It has to be responsible."

We ate lunch in my room. I was feeling better, as I usually did around lunch time, but I was really sleepy. Stan made me finish every bit of my soup, stealing my pillows and hiding them someplace else in my house, and refusing to give them back until I did. When I finished my bowl and Stan finished his, he returned my pillows to me, and I relaxed, waiting for sleep to come, as I listened to Stan whistle the tune of _3rd Planet_ from where he lay on the floor beside my bed.

About half way through the song, he stopped. I didn't notice it, until I saw him stand up from where he was lying on the floor.

"What is it?" I asked.

"My stomach hurts."

I stared at him. I wasn't sure if he was just messing with me, or if he was serious, or if he was just being paranoid. I sat up and he sat next to me on the bed.

He kept an unblinking stare at the opposite wall for a while, as if he was trying to analyze everything he was feeling right then. He then looked at me, "Scoot over."

He pushed me a little and I scooted over on the bed so that he could slip under the covers with me. "Stan, your blocking the trash can by my bed. What if I gotta puke?"

"You don't need it, I do. I had the salt."

"Stan, _nothing_ is wrong with the salt. It's not the salt. It's the stomach flu."

He didn't answer, but lay there with his eyes closed.

I watched him from where I sat beside him. He _really_ thought something was wrong with the salt, and it _wasn't_ one of his strange antics. Maybe there was something wrong with it. I felt Stan's forehead after I saw him begin to sweat a little. It was hot. "Stan... you okay?"

He shook his head, "No." He sat up.

I watched him closely. He held his stomach and winced. I was certain now that he wasn't faking it.

Stan puked up all of his lunch, and he was right. It _was_ the salt.

Despite his high fever and having just thrown up for two minutes straight, Stan didn't waste any time in going to the kitchen, retrieving the bad salt, walking to the front porch, and tossing it out with all his strength so that it landed somewhere distant, the glass shaker heard shattering in the streets. "_Fucking salt! Try and get Kyle sick **now**!_" he yelled after the inanimate object and shaking his fist, making me blush with both embarrassment and flattery.


	6. Chapter 5

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**Stan's POV**

**Chapter 5**

After an hour's rest, I had fully recovered from the little illness I suffered from. Kyle, on the other hand, spent the rest of that Friday and all of Saturday in bed. On Saturday when I had visited Kyle, his mother stopped me before I went to greet him in his room. I was nervous by the way she gestured for me to come to her, wearing a serious look. I immediately jumped to some terrible conclusion that something awful had happened to Kyle.

"Stan, I just wanted to thank you for being here for Kyle and being such a wonderful friend to him," she said, causing me to breathe a sigh of relief, realizing that this wasn't anything relating to the death of my boyfriend.

I smiled and nodded shyly, "It's no problem, Mrs. Broflovski."

She returned a smile. God, I wanted to tell her the truth about Kyle and I. Why did Kyle seem to think that his mother wouldn't understand? She seemed so caring when it came to both of her sons; she wanted nothing but the best for them. The short, woman gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure Kyle is expecting you."

I nodded and continued to Kyle's room. I came to the doorway and almost knocked Ike down as he was leaving the room. The black haired kid yelped a little as he bumped into me, immediately jumping backwards with his eyes wide with surprise. "Sorry," I apologized.

He smiled weakly, and I saw him blush a little as he inched away quickly down the hall, obviously hiding something, for he kept himself facing me and his hands behind his back, grasping some unknown object. I paid no attention to the twelve-year-old's little antics however and continued into Kyle's room.

The sound of me and Ike's collision seemed to rouse Kyle from his sleep, as I saw his body rustle about underneath his blue bed sheets and let out a soft, small moan. "Should I come back later?" I asked.

I saw him turn over underneath the blankets, before peeking his eyes over the sheets, blinking sleepily. "No," he yawned, "I'm fine." He sat up and stretched a little.

I sat beside him on the bed and felt his forehead, "How you feeling?"

"_Much_ better," he smiled with his eyes closed. His voice sounded a lot better too. Besides being a bit raspy, it seemed to be back to normal. He opened his eyes, and looked at me and smiled.

"Your fever seems to be gone," I said retracting my hand from his head.

"Thanks to you," he said, causing me to blush.

I looked at his nightstand and saw a pile of text books and papers. "How's the homework coming along?"

"Finished."

I smiled. Of course. "Can you do mine too?"

He laughed and shook his head, "I'm sure you can handle it just fine."

The two of us stopped when we heard footsteps approaching, and I stood up. It was only Ike though, and he passed by quickly, only glancing into the room for a split second.

"Ike!" Kyle called after his brother, and he appeared in the doorway again.

"What?"

"Did you record Abrams yesterday for me?" Kyle asked.

The kid nodded. I was aware from Kyle that he and Ike had very little in common, but one thing the two did share was their love of this talk show that came on _MSNBC_ called _The Abrams Report_. Though I suspected Ike watched the program for the sheer political adventure of it all, and Kyle watched it for the blue-eyed, clean and pressed, young brunette, Dan Abrams, who hosted it. Whenever I questioned Kyle on whether or not he had a crush on the anchor his cheeks turned pink and he quietly denied it with a shy "_Nooo._" I didn't understand what he was so embarrassed about. Maybe he thought I would be upset or jealous, but I wasn't. After all, I had my own celebrity love, Isaac Brock.

So an hour was spent watching Friday's broadcast of _The Abrams Report_ in the living room of the Broflovski home, where the _Tivo_ was programmed to record the show. Ike joined Kyle and I for the event. He sat beside Kyle on the sofa, in the exact same manner as his brother: legs pulled up to his chest, arms clinging to his pants legs, and head resting on his knees, slightly tilted to one side.

Rather than watching the show, I found myself watching the two brothers. I knew Kyle for complaining about his little brother a lot, and never "understanding him." But from what I saw, they were very much alike. Maybe it was the fact that Ike wore Kyle's old orange jacket and it made him look a little more like Kyle, even more so with the matching green hat on his head. I also noticed that, like his adoptive sibling, he chewed on his nails. I never saw him do it before, and I started to think that maybe the kid was trying to mimic his brother somehow. The idea of a little brother trying to be more like his big brother was cute and made me smile to myself, especially when I witnessed the two throw up their hands and yell "_What the hell?_" at the TV, in what seemed like a carefully choreographed performance.

After watching television together for another hour, Kyle's parents announced that they were leaving to the post office to mail some gifts to Kyle's grandfather in Connecticut. As soon as the two left the house, and their car was heard pulling out of the driveway, I noticed Kyle scoot closer to me from where he sat beside me. Although I felt a little uncomfortable, with Ike watching, I wrapped an arm around him and brought him closer.

Kyle smiled at me and then glanced at his brother. "Ike, did you finish your homework?" he asked.

"No."

"Then go do that."

"_Why?_ I'm watching TV!"

"Ike, just go up to your room!"

Ike glared at his brother, who returned a similar look. The younger brother stood from where he sat and marched angrily up the staircase to his room. I felt a little bad for the kid, but Kyle and I had gone almost a week without an real time alone with one another.

As soon as his brother reached the top of the staircase, Kyle turned and smiled a playful smile, and gently pushed me so that I fell onto my back. We both laughed a little as he climbed on top of me. I grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him down, closing the gap between us in a tender kiss. We both moaned quietly, thankful to be feeling something we had missed for way too long.

Kyle was the first to pull away. He paused for a brief moment to smile at me and then we kissed again.

"How long do you think my parents will take at the post office?" Kyle asked as I massaged his neck with kisses.

"I dunno," I answered, moving my lips back to his mouth and sliding a hand underneath his shirt.

He gasped a little at my touch and I felt his fingers tighten where he had been combing them through my hair. "'kay..." he said between one last kiss before he fell off of me.

Kyle took my hand and hurriedly lead me around the corner to his room. As we rushed to the privacy of his bedroom, I spotted a curious twelve-year-old sitting at the top of the staircase, which therefore caused me to make certain that I locked Kyle's door before I joined him on the bed.

* * *

Kyle laughed when I demanded to check his pizza before he proceeded to eat lunch, but I was being serious. "It's left overs from two days ago," he said. "There's nothing wrong with it." 

I still bit off a small piece before eating my own slice, just to be safe. I wasn't going to lose Kyle anytime soon because of some bad food.

We continued to eat when Ike came and sat beside his brother at the dining table where we sat. "Where's mine?" he asked.

"Go warm some up in the microwave yourself," Kyle said taking a sip of his soda.

Ike rolled his eyes, "I've been serving _you_ for like four days now. You don't have to be so rude."

Kyle stuck a tongue out at his brother, and continued to take another bite from his slice of cheese pizza.

"I'm telling Mom," his brother threatened.

Kyle sighed, "_Fine_." He stood up, "I'll be right back," and he left the dining room.

I avoided looking at Ike, who sat just opposite of me at the table. Something about seeing him on the staircase after just making out with his brother made me feel uneasy. I couldn't help but look at the boy when he spoke though: "Who is Milo?"

I stared at him. How would he know about that? "What?"

"Milo. Who is Milo? And why does Kyle hate him?"

I laughed a little, "Kyle does _not_ _hate_ Milo." I paused for a moment, "...Why do you think he hates him?"

"He said he did."

I blinked at him, "...When?"

Ike shrugged, "I don't remember. I think it was June 28th or something."

"...He told you he hated Milo on June the 28th?"

"No, I read it in his journal," he confessed it so casually, as if he hadn't done anything wrong.

"Ike, you can't read your brother's journal!" I stopped, "Wait... He said he hates Milo?"

Ike nodded.

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie? I don't even know who the hell Milo _is_." He tilted his head in a inquisitive manner, "Who _is_ Milo?"

I ignored his question. "Are you _sure_ he said that?"

Ike sighed as if annoyed, "_Yes_. Do you wanna see it?"

I hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

Ike stood up from his table and I followed him up the stairs and down the small hallway to his room. He went to his desk and picked up a small green notebook, which I recognized as Kyle's journal. He flipped through the pages and then handed me the book.

_June 28th, 2005_

_I wonder what this all says about me and what kind of person I really am. I mean, I look back on yesterday's entry and see that I was so pissed off at Stan after our argument. I said that I didn't care what he did and that it looked like everything was over between us, but now... I feel like I can't live without him. Is it weird that I feel the biggest urge to pick up the phone and give him an apology so easily and quickly? And I don't think he deserves one either. But I look at photos of the two of us and I break down crying. I know it was just a stupid fight and we'll probably be with one another in just a matter of days, but I can't help it. I went to get something out of my desk and found that drawing he gave me on my birthday. The one that "Milo drew." I took one look at it and then cried for another hour after just finishing. It can't be healthy to be in a relationship that tears me apart so much, right? God, I'm crying AGAIN. _

_This has to stop._

_I can't take him back. Not this time. I have to remember this time. KYLE, DON'T TAKE HIM BACK. Screw those cute, little, strange antics of his. Screw Milo. God, how could I let something as stupid and retarded as MILO make me cry? I'm so pathetic._

_That's it. It's over. And I mean it this time._

I stared blankly at the entry for a while, and then proceeded to flip through the journal to the last entry.

_September 6th, 2005_

_Our anniversary didn't go as well as I had imagined it. We had a fun dinner and a movie, but my stupid brother had to interrupt the night. He's such a fucking pest._

_It was funny though. I went to his house later last night to find that he already left to my own house. I found him at my window calling for me, thinking that I was in my room. It was really cute._

_So after that I expected the two of us to fall asleep, ending the evening on a pretty good note, but then Stan brought something up. He wanted to know if I had thought about coming out to our parents. Of course I thought about it, but I don't want to. I told him this and he started to cry, thus ruining the night even more so._

_God, I felt so horrible. I didn't want him to cry. I told him that we would tell our parents soon. He asked if I promised that I would. I said I did. How the hell else do you respond to "Do you promise?"? "No, I don't. I just want you to stop crying."? Not good. I hope Stan forgets about the whole thing. I really, really, REALLY hope he does._

"_What are you doing?_" I heard Kyle gasp and I quickly looked up.

I at first tried to hide the book behind my back, but Kyle had already noticed and approached me quickly, snatching the thing from my hands.

"Stan!" he yelled, "_How could you?_" He stopped though and his expression immediately turned soft when he probably noticed that I was crying. "What's wrong?"

I didn't know where to start. I felt so horrible, so betrayed, so stupid and violated for being lied to. I clenched my fists, trying to contain the tears that built up so quickly, "_You lied to me!_" I decided to start with that.

"What?"

"_You promised and you didn't mean it and that fucking promise meant **everything** to me!"_

_"Stan... What promise? I--"_

"_You said we would tell our parents soon about us and you didn't mean it! **And you think Milo is retarded?**"_

"What? _No!_"

"_Yes! You said it! You said Milo was stupid!_"

"_Stan, of course Milo isn't stupid! I-I love Milo!_"

I cried even more. How the fuck could I believe him? He lied about his promise and what made it so sure that he wasn't lying right then? Kyle tried to place an arm on my shoulder and I pulled away. I wiped at my eyes and glared at him. He looked so frail and scared, and his lip quivered as tears streamed down his own cheeks.

"_Stan, please..._"

I ignored him, and ran past him, out of his house, and all the way home.


	7. Chapter 6

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**Kyle's POV**

**Chapter 6**

I didn't know how to feel. I wasn't sure what had just happened. For a long time, I blinked dumbly at my journal in my hands. I caught Stan reading it, and at first I was completely horrified. How could he invade my privacy like that?

But then I noticed the tears in his eyes. I felt so incredibly guilty when I discovered that he found out that promise I made on the night of our anniversary was an empty one. Well, I felt guilty when I first made the promise, but even more so then, when I was caught in a lie.

But it was understandable, wasn't it? I didn't _mean_ to lie. I was just... trying to make him feel better. I only wanted him to stop crying. I didn't mean it.

"What are you going to do now?" my brother, who I had failed to notice until then, asked. I didn't like the tone of the question. It was almost _mocking_, the way he put it. As if it wasn't really a question, because there was really no solution, or at least he made it feel that way.

I sniffed and wiped at my watery eyes and damp cheeks. It was useless, because within seconds, my vision was blurred with fresh tears. "I dunno." I plopped onto the ground. I sat, lost in thought, with my tear-filled eyes fixed on my journal that I know aimlessly flipped through.

"You're not going to go after him then?" Ike said after a while.

I looked up at Ike. I blinked at him and then returned my gaze to the journal. "I dunno," I sniffed loudly. "...I dunno what I should do..."

"You should go after him."

I looked up, "...He's mad at me... You saw him... He ran out of here like-- _Besides_... he read _my_ _journal_. ...It's really his fault if you think about it..."

"How can you get him to forgive you, if you don't apologize?" he placed his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow, "You know what your problem is?"

I shook my head, "What?"

"You're a stubborn bastard."

"Watch your mouth," I said standing. I paused and frowned at my brother, "I am, aren't I?"

He nodded.

I sighed and sniffed one last time, before wiping at my eyes again. I took a deep breath, attempting to collect myself, "Alright. ...I'll go after him. ...I'll apologize."

A satisfied smile seemed to sweep my brother's face. "Go then," he smirked. "And don't forget to buckle up for safety!" he called out as I left the room.

* * *

When I got to the garage, I found the door to my car left open. I at first found it a bit strange, but I suppose somebody needed to retrieve something they left in there and had simply forgotten to close it. Maybe Stan grabbed his CDs before he left. I hoped it wasn't that. That would mean he felt that it was over. I had to quickly shake the thought from my head as I got behind the wheel. I had just finished with enough crying. I didn't need to start up again. 

I buckled my seatbelt and pulled out of the garage. As I pulled out of the driveway, I spotted my brother at the front door. He gave me a half wave, and I returned a weak smile, before continuing to Stan's house.

Just before I would reach Stan's, I came to a stop sign, and halted. And then suddenly, my car's engine just shut itself off. As I tried the ignition over and over again, only to get a loud clicking noise in return, I noticed that I smelt an unusually strong scent of gasoline or something similar.

I turned the key in the ignition one last time and heard a loud crack that startled me. I stared at the hood of my car and realized that there was smoke rising from it. I quickly went to unbuckle my seat belt to discover that I couldn't. I tugged on the binding strap over and over again, but I couldn't get it loose.

I tried the door and it wouldn't open. I checked if it was unlocked, and it was. I tried again, and it still didn't open. As I frantically jiggled the door's handle, feeling more and more paranoid with each passing second, I heard another loud noise from my car. I looked and screamed when I noticed that flames seeped through the hood of the vehicle.

I panicked and pulled on the door handle, screaming. I was then officially and completely terrified as I kept my eyes on the dreadful fire that grew larger and larger. The cackling from the bright flames suddenly roared, and I saw the entire hood of my car instantly burst into flames within a blink of the eye. I screamed louder and honked the horn to try and call for help, but as hard as I tried, the horn refused to make any noise.

"**_Oh God, I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! OH GOD!_**" I tried to roll down the window, but also failed in that. I cried hysterically, as I could then begin to feel the heat of the flames. I tried to untangle myself from the seatbelt, by attempting to slide out of it, but it was no use.

"**_SOMEBODY HELP! PLEASE HELP ME!_**" I beat on the car door with my fists. I watched the scenery around me disappear, as heavy black smoke engulfed the car. I tried the door again, throwing myself against it with all my might, "**_HELP ME! OH GOD, I'M GONNA DIE!_**"

I cried and cried, anticipating that at any moment, the entire car would suddenly become a gigantic fire ball, with me trapped inside. And that would be it. That was the end of me.

"**_KYLE!_**" Stan suddenly appeared and I never felt so happy and grateful to see him. For a while, he just stood there, blinking at me, the fire, and back at me. He then screamed, as if it just suddenly all occurred to him that I was trapped. He pulled on the door handle frantically to get me out, but he also was unable to open it. I saw him circle the vehicle, trying each door, only to find that he couldn't open them either.

He returned to my door and desperately tried again, beating on the window with one hand and pulling on the door's handle with the other. He stopped, and for a brief moment we both just stared at each other, our scared, wide, frightened eyes locked with one another's, the two of us breathing hard, tears streaming down our faces, and thinking:

_This is it..._

I heard a loud crack and the flames gave of a loud, menacing roar and I screamed, "**_STAN, I LOVE YOU! I'M SO SORRY!_**"

But the smoke had grown so thick, and I could no longer see him. I cried for him over and over again, but he was gone. I then could faintly see his hand that tapped on the window. He motioned with his hand for me to get down, and I ducked.

I screamed when I heard a crash and felt a thousand tiny shards of glass rain down upon me. I felt a pair of hand grasp me by the shoulders and I looked up and saw that Stan had succeeded in breaking the window open and was then trying to pull me out.

He held me tightly around my chest, pulling me with all his strength, as I tried to help the process by pushing myself up with my feet, but it was all very difficult with the seatbelt that still bound me.

"**_Kyle, take off your seatbelt dammit!_**" Stan yelled over the flames.

"**_I can't! It's stuck!_**"

He finally had me halfway out, with only my left leg still caught in the seatbelt. By then, I could feel a number of hands on me, as a couple of nearby residents aided in trying to free me.

With one last tug, I was pulled from the car and we all fell hard onto the pavement. I wasn't allowed more than two seconds of lying on the ground, when Stan pulled me up and dragged me away. We both tripped when we were startled by a loud bang. I fell on top of Stan just as we reached the sidewalk. I cried and flung my arms around him, and saw that my car had been completely engulfed in flames. It was the scariest thing I ever witnessed. I had been inside that vehicle only moments ago. I could have very well still have been in there, if it weren't for Stan. I couldn't stand to look at the flames any longer and I broke down crying even more.

Stan held me tightly and I buried my face in his chest, hiding myself from the fire, and crying hysterically. "**_Stan, I love you! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it! I swear I didn't! I love you, Stan! I'm sorry about what I said in my journal! Stan, please--_**"

"_**Kyle, fuck the journal!**_" I felt his hold tighten around me. He pulled away, and kissed me quickly a few times, grasping my face with both hands. He squeezed me tightly again and then pulled away, "_Are you alright? Are you hurt? What the hell happened?_"

He frantically folded up my pants' legs, seeing that blood seeped through the jean material. "_I dunno what happened... It just stopped and caught fire_," I tried to explain as he checked the cuts on my legs, caused by the broken glass on the window as I was pulled out. I saw that the sleeve of his shirt on his right arm was also stained red with blood, and I folded it up, revealing a terrible cut of his own, but he ignored it, paying attention only to my wounds.

We both looked up when we heard sirens, and saw two police cruisers, an ambulance, and a fire truck pull up. Two firefighters immediately began to extinguish the fire, as one shouted at no one in particular, _"Is there anyone inside the vehicle?"_

"_No_," I answered and he turned around to face me, "I was the only one."

* * *

Stan and I were lead to the ambulance, where a man and a woman cleaned up our injuries. Inside the large white vehicle, I was being questioned by a police officer on what happened. By then, I had stopped crying and had calmed down for the most part, even though I was still pretty shaken up about the whole thing. "The car just stopped," I said to the policeman, "And I saw smoke. I tried to get out to see what was the matter, but my seatbelt was stuck and the door wouldn't open." I paused as I felt stinging on my back, as the woman cleaned up a few scratches I had gotten there as well. "The hood suddenly caught on fire and I couldn't find anyway out," I continued. "I tried the horn, but it wouldn't work. Stan," I gestured at Stan who sat opposite of me, finished with his cut already sealed with liquid stitches, "came, and broke the window open. He pulled me out, with the help of two others who I guess saw what was happening." 

In the middle of my explanation, my family had arrived. My mother sat beside me, crying and petting my hair, and every so often kissing my forehead. Stan's mom and dad were there too. He sat between his parents, with his mother giving him similar treatment, though not nearly as emotional as my mom's.

"So, let me get this straight," the police officer said. "Your car starts to inexplicably catch fire and when you try to escape, you find that your seatbelt is stuck, you door is jammed, your window too, and you horn doesn't work?"

I nodded.

"That seems pretty suspicious, kid."

I stared at him, "Well, that's what happened. You don't believe me?"

"Sir, I was there. I tried the door and it would _not_ open. _None_ of the doors would," Stan said. "And why would Kyle make this up?"

"I didn't say he did," the officer answered. "I was just saying that it's pretty strange that all these things would just go wrong." He leaned forward and gave me a serious look, "Kyle, right?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"Kyle, tell me, do you know anybody who would try to hurt you?"

I paused, "...Are you saying somebody set this up?"

"It's possible. Do you know anyone who would do this?"

I blinked at him, at Stan, and my mom beside me. "...No."

"Are you sure?"

Again I looked at Stan, who had a hand clasped over his mouth and his eyes wide and unblinking, already glistening with fresh tears. I looked from my mom, to my dad who stood behind us; the two of them stared at me with extreme and grave concern. I glanced at Mr. and Mrs. Marsh who also looked worried. I then looked at my brother who kept his eyes on the ground, as he bit his nails.

"_And don't forget to buckle up for safety!_" suddenly echoed through my head.

"Kyle?"

I looked at the policeman and slowly shook my head. "...I can't think of anyone."

* * *

Everyone seemed to think that it would be best if I went home and got some rest. I hardly felt like sleeping though. Stan stayed with me. I suppose my parents didn't object to him getting in the way of my nap, seeing as he was the one that saved my life. 

"Stan, I'm sorry about--"

"Forget it," he said caressing my face, as the two of us sat on my bed.

"But... I feel really bad," I said. "I _lied_ to you, Stan. I had no idea that my promise meant that much... Well, I guess I did have an idea, but..."

"_Kyle, I don't care._" He kissed me gently on the forehead and then gave me a weak smile, "I'm just glad you're okay."

We kissed again. "Stan, I promise-- _I_ _really, truly promise_-- that we'll tell our parents soon." I paused and took his hands, so that he could see that I was serious this time, "I _really_ thought I was going to die today, Stan," I sniffed. "I thought that I was never going to see you again. I thought that I'd never get to tell you that I was sorry. And... if I died, then our parents would have never known about us. And _I do want them to._ ...I know it doesn't seem like it, but I do. It's just... I'm scared..."

He nodded and sniffed too. "I understand, Kyle..."

"But we'll tell them," I said. "Soon. Just tell me when, and we will. _Stan, I love you_. I am scared of this, but... I know it's something that you've been waiting for way too long. Just tell me when. Whenever. Tomorrow, if you want."

He laughed a short, nervous laugh and wiped at his eyes, "Tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Wow, I... Kyle, we don't _have_ to. We can wait a little longer if you still feel--"

I shook my head. If we kept waiting, I was just going to get more and more nervous and scared. We should have really came out a long time ago. It was just better to get it out of the way. I thought that because my parents had by then witnessed Stan save my life, that then was the best of any opportunities. "We'll tell them tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 7

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**Stan's POV**

**Chapter 7**

I brought up the fact to my mother that it had been quite a while since we last had the Broflovski's over for dinner. Just as I predicted, and had told Kyle, she agreed and called Mrs. Broflovski to arrange something later that Sunday evening.

Kyle and I planned that after dinner, but before dessert, we would come out and make the formal announcement that the two of us were gay, together, and in love. Kyle seemed a little more optimistic with the plan of telling both mine and his parents all at once, saying that his mother wouldn't scream as much while she was in somebody else's home and in the presence of my parents. I didn't think Mrs. Broflovski would do any screaming, but I had to be honest and admit that, of all our parents, her reaction was the one I was weary about the most. It wasn't that I didn't think that she wasn't going to except the idea of her son being gay; but the idea of her son being with me.

From what I had seen and experienced with Mrs. Broflovski, I had come discover that she wanted only the best for her children. Now that her son was nearly an adult, was preparing to set out on his own and face the world, having been perfectly and neatly shaped into the high-achieving gentleman his mother had worked all her life to create; I'm sure that the last thing she wanted was some strange, demented kid, like myself, to come and fuck everything up. And as I reflected over this, and it hit me the morning of the planned dinner, I became extremely paranoid. I felt this odd necessity to try and show myself off--show that I was good enough-- that I also wanted the best for Kyle. I wasn't just some horny teenager looking for a good fuck. I loved Kyle. Not just love, but that extreme, top level love. I loved him in that _dreaming-of-our-wedding-day_ sort of love. You know, that utterly and sadly hopeless kind of thing.

I could tell my parents were really suspicious of my behavior. It wasn't the fact that I made dinner. I did that regularly, because I really loved cooking; so much, that during a good portion of my sophomore year, I thought I was going to do something in culinary arts. And it wasn't the fact that I for once, combed my hair. I usually did that every now and then, just to give myself a little laugh. And it wasn't the fact that I bothered to throw on something other than an old, faded Modest Mouse shirt and a pair of jeans I had managed to wear for a little over three days. It was due time, that I did a load of laundry for myself.

I guess it was just my obviously obsessive attitude I had towards it all. It was the way I ran around frantically, practically screaming my head off, looking for the left shoe to my good, non-ratty pair of sneakers. It was the way I abused the tub of hair gel, while cursing at this one, rebellious strand of hair, which seemed so determined to fuck up the night for me, for nearly twenty minutes straight, before I finally pulled the strand out and laughed victoriously at its demise. It was the way that I, for the first time, asked my dad for his opinion on what shirt to wear. It was the way I practically went violently insane on my mom when she simply offered to help with the salad, which involved me snatching the lettuce from her hands, and snapping, "**_NO! DON'T TOUCH IT!_**"

"...Uh, sorry, Mom," I apologized immediately after the incident. "It's just... you have to wash your hands first, you know."

My mother smiled a little, "Of course."

I watched her move towards the kitchen sink, and I reluctantly put the lettuce back down on the counter. I supposed I could trust her with at least the salad for the night.

I returned to the opposite counter to continue frosting the three layered chocolate cake I baked earlier, which was one of the four choices of desserts I prepared for the night, amongst vanilla cupcakes, strawberry-banana bread, and apple pie.

"My goodness, Stanley," My mother said with a light laugh, "With all this food, I should probably call up a few others to come join us for the night--"

"**_NO!_**"

She stopped and looked at me.

"I mean... Just look at it this way, Mom. If we have food left, then you won't have to cook tomorrow."

"By the looks of things, it doesn't look like I'll have to cook for the next five or six days."

I laughed nervously.

She was quiet for a long time. I stopped frosting the cake for a brief moment, to check on the chicken dumpling I had in the oven. When I reached above my mom's head for the oven mitts, she gently touched my arm and I looked at her. She wore a serious, concerned look, "Is there anything wrong, Stan?" she asked.

I retrieved the oven mitts and pulled them on, "No, Mom."

"Are you sure? ...There's nothing that you want to tell me?"

I smiled a little and shook my head, "I'm sure. I'm fine." I smiled even more, "_I'm great_."

She laughed a little, "Well, alright..."

The doorbell rang and I couldn't help but jump at the sound. _It was them._

My mother left to answer the door, having completed the salad. Just as I set the chicken on top of the stove to cool, Kyle entered the kitchen. I immediately grinned when I saw him, but his expression remained solemn and unchanging. "What's wrong?" I asked closing the oven and approaching him, from where he stood by the counter, where I had been finishing up the last few touches to the cake.

He slowly shook his head, "I'm scared, Stan... I-I... I dunno if I can do this..."

"Of course you can, Kyle--"

He sighed, "You know, I felt almost confident about the whole thing just five minutes ago. All up into the ride here, right up until she had to start talking... and of all things! She had to start talking about something like that!" Kyle threw a hand over his eyes and took a deep, stressful breath. He peeked over his hand at me, "I dunno if I can do this..."

"Why? What happened?"

"Before we left here... apparently my mom got a phone call from my aunt..." Kyle laughed nervously a little, "My mom is so excited. My aunt Mary is going to be a grandma. My cousin Shanna is having her first baby..."

"That's great."

"No, it isn't! 'Cause my mom was on this endless ramble about babies! And how she just _can't wait_ to be a grandmother! Stan! We can't give her grandchildren!"

"Whoa, whoa," I frowned, "Calm down..."

"_I am calm!_"

I sighed and put an arm around him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly, with my oven mitted hand, "Well," I said, "your mom has an adoptive son, who she loves. I'm sure she'll love adoptive grandchildren..."

He smiled a little.

"It's going to be okay." I smiled big, trying to get him to cheer up, but that fake and weak, nervous smile of his refused to turn genuine. "It's going to be _fine_," I tried again, "You know why?"

He shook his head, "No. Why?"

"_Because_," I said playfully rolling my eyes, "I made this entire magical feast! Well, save the salad... But! Everything else, I made! And! I put a secret ingredient in everything too! And that secret ingredient is mightier than anything else in the world! Guess what it is!"

Kyle shrugged, "What?"

"_Guuuuueee-eeessss!_" I sang.

He giggled, "I dunno! What?"

I bit my lip and grinned big. He was finally smiling and his cheeks were that familiar soft pink. He practically bounced up and down with anticipation, and I saw that I succeeded in getting him to forget all the fear he had of what was to come. I stared at him with a smile for a long time, just enjoying the moment. I couldn't believe that I almost lost him the other day.

"_What is it?_" he asked again with a shy laugh.

I grinned even bigger, "_It's..._" I opened my mouth, holding my breath, making him all the more anxious. I finally threw up a hand, "_...Loooove!_ _Yaaay!_"

He laughed some more, "_Love?_"

"Yes, Sir!"

He shook his head with disbelief at my behavior, and a smile, "...Okay."

"Yay!"

He continued to shake his head and laugh behind a hand. I gave him a quick kiss and then pulled off my oven mitts to finish up with the cake. My mom and Mrs. Broflovski entered the kitchen. "Why don't you boys go and sit down? We'll set the table," My mom said.

"No, Mom. I can do it," I said reaching for the salad bowl just as she grabbed it.

"Stanley, you've done all the cooking for the night! Take a break, Son!"

"My goodness, Stan, you cooked all of _this_?" Mrs. Broflovski said.

I blushed a little, "...Yeah." I glanced at Kyle who grinned at me.

"Well, I'm sure you're going to make some little lady a very happy wife someday!" she smiled.

I blushed even more and looked at Kyle who laughed nervously. I don't think I had ever been that eager to leave the kitchen then. I just smiled at Mrs. Broflovski, and Kyle and I rushed out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

* * *

At dinner, I sat beside Kyle, and opposite of Ike, who sat beside his mother, who sat beside Mr. Broflovski. My dad sat near him at end of the table, next to my mother, who was at Kyle's side. Kyle and I were generally quiet throughout the entire dinner. Our parents talked amongst themselves. 

I kept my watch on Kyle, who seemed increasingly restless. I kept gently tugging on his arm, for him to stop chewing on his fingernails, which wasn't the usual, casual nibble, but an anxious chomping and pulling; I thought he was going to tear off every one of his fingernails by the time the meal was over.

Dinner was through and my mother announced that she was going to get the dessert. I looked at Kyle who bit his lip, shut his eyes tightly and nodded. I began to stand from my chair and he let out a loud yelp, before quickly covering his mouth with one hand, and pulling me back down to my chair with the other. "What?"

"W-we don't have to st-stand!" he whispered harshly.

"But it'd be better if we--"

"No! I feel m-more comfortable if we ju-just stayed sitting!"

"Fine, you can sit. I'll do the talking, okay?" I went to stand, but again he pulled me down.

I glanced at everyone who had grown silent and was staring at us. My mom had sat back down before leaving to get the dessert. I suddenly grew really nervous, and also, all at once, preferred to stay sitting myself.

"Stan, what's wrong?" my dad asked.

"Nothing," I said quickly. I paused, "Uh... it's just... uh, Kyle... Kyle and I have some news... It's good news! Or... I think... _We_ think it is. And uh... well... you see... Mom, Dad, uh, Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski, eh, Ike... well, not really, 'cause you sorta already, well, uh... Anyways, it's just that well, Kyle... Kyle and I... It's really not that big a deal, but... well, uh... uh... er... uh..." I couldn't believe how bad I was fucking up. I kept looking from my mom, to my dad, to Kyle's mom and Kyle's dad, to Ike, to Kyle. Mine and Kyle's parents stared at me with a confused, concerned look. Ike had sunk down in his chair, in a shy, nervous fashion. Kyle stared at me with wide eyes, as if he too, couldn't believe my behavior. He wore a look as if expressing: _What **are** you doing?_ My mouth was open, but I just couldn't talk. I guessed it really was harder than it sounded. "...Eh... uh... you see... it's just... we... uh... we... uh... uhh..."

"**_WE'RE GAY!_**" Kyle immediately slapped a hand over his mouth after it erupted so unexpectedly out of him. Everyone's attention went from me to him, and I thought by the look on his face, that he was going to faint right then.

"_Uh, right!_" I said quickly, turning everyone's attention back on me. "And, uh, for eh, three years now, Kyle and I have been, sorta, you know... uh..."

"_Together?_" Kyle finished.

"Right! Together! And... in... uh, you know..."

"_Love?_"

"Right! Love! The secret ingredient! I mean... uh... right. And uh, you know, it's kinda funny that uh, we've been hiding it, right?" I laughed nervously, "Because, it's stupid for us to be afraid of telling you guys! Because you guys understand! Why wouldn't you? You guys understand... right?"

Silence.

Everybody blinked at me, with their mouths slightly opened. I looked at Kyle who visibly shook as he kept his watery eyes focused on his hands that he wrung nervously in his lap; his face was red, and I could imagine that mine was as well. I gently took his hand, and at my touch he flinched and quickly looked up at me. I tightened my grasp on his hand, squeezing it firmly and looked up at mother who was just standing.

She wore a small, kind smile and I could see that her eyes were a little glazed with tears. "M-mom? Y-y-you understand, r-right?" I repeated.

She gave a short, light laugh as if the question was a ridiculous one. And before I knew it, she was embracing me in the biggest hug I had ever received from her. "Of course, Stanley!" she said pulling away and grasping my face tightly, kissing my forehead, cheek, and giving me one last squeeze. "Right, Randy?"

I hadn't even noticed that my dad was behind me by then. He gave me a small smile and nodded, "Right."

I laughed, relieved and smiled at Kyle as my father gave me a pat on the shoulder and my mom hugged me another time. Kyle returned a weak, quivering smile from where he sat. My smile faded and I looked to Mrs. Broflovski who was the only one who still sat in her chair.

Her eyes were on the ceiling, but they came and met with mine, and I felt my heart sink. She didn't like me. She didn't want Kyle to be with me. I failed.

I returned my gaze down at Kyle who had his eyes on the ground. His father was behind him, saying something like "It's alright, Son. Give her time," and had a hand on his shoulder. Kyle was crying, although silent. I pulled away from my parents and kneeled down in front of him. Before I got to speak, he fell off the chair, throwing his arms around me and cried, "_Stan!_"

It tore me apart. I held him closely and tried my best to sound comforting, "_It's alright Kyle. It's okay..._"

"It's okay, Kyle," my mother said. "There's no reason to be crying." She knelt beside me. Kyle gently pulled away to look up at her. She cupped his face, and at her touch, I saw him smile a little and he laughed nervously. "This is good news. This is _great_ news. This isn't a time for crying, Kyle. _This is wonderful_. Isn't it, Sheila?"

Kyle, my mother, as well as myself, and I imagine everyone else, looked to Mrs. Broflovski. She still sat there, but she stared back at my mom. She looked as if she was going to say something, but she had lost the words. She then slowly nodded, "...Of course." But it didn't sound all that promising.

I don't recall ever telling my feet to lead themselves in the direction they took that night, but I just remember standing there in front of her, trying to wear the most serious, sincere look I could ever manage. I remember our eyes locked with one another's and me speaking in a clear, sophisticated voice, that I didn't even recognize at first as my own: "_I love your son, more than anything else in the world, and I will do **anything** for him_."

The next thing I recall about that night was Kyle in his mother's arms, crying and laughing at the same time; he looked over his mother's shoulders at me and I could tell in his eyes, that he was thinking the same thing I was thinking:

_They understood.

* * *

_It's kind of funny how I could go to sleep feeling the most happy I had ever felt in my entire life, only to wake up to the most frightening thing I had then yet to experience.

I had only just fallen asleep maybe two or three hours before I was roused awake by my parents. I felt the rays of the light above my head shine brightly and I sleepily pried my eyes open to find my dad at my bedside, by the light switch, and my mom waiting at the doorway. I immediately got a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, "What's going on?" I asked sitting up in bed.

"Stan," my dad said walking over to retrieve my hooded sweater that hung on a chair nearby. He took the jacket and held it out to me, "You might wanna put this on. It's cold outside."

"Why?" I asked, quickly getting out of bed and taking the jacket. "What's going on?"

My dad looked to my mom and she looked at me, "Stanley, now don't get too worked up. Mrs. Broflovski says he's perfectly safe now, but... something has happened to Kyle, and--"

"_What happened?_" I quickly asked.

"She didn't say exactly..." my mom said, "All I was told was that Kyle was really shaken up about it, and she and Mr. Broflovski and the authorities need you to try and calm him down."

"_The authorities? You mean the police are there? What happened?_"

"Calm down, Stan," My dad said, "They said he's fine, and I'm sure he is."

* * *

When we arrived at the Broflovski's home within the next ten minutes, there were several police cruisers, a fire engine, and an ambulance. I didn't even give my dad a chance to completely stop the car before I ran out of the vehicle, towards Kyle, who I spotted standing near the ambulance with himself wrapped in a blanket. Before I could reach him, I was stopped by Mr. Broflovski and a police officer. 

I recognized the policeman as the same one that had spoken to Kyle and I the other day when Kyle had the car accident. "Stan?" he asked.

I nodded and tried to move towards Kyle again, but he kept a firm hold on my arm, "Hold up, Son. Let me fill you in on the situation."

I nodded, "Right! _What happened?_" I shouted eagerly.

"Well, there was a small fire. Nothing too big. Mr. Broflovski was able to put it out himself in time," he gestured at Kyle's dad. "The fire was in Kyle's room. And because Kyle was found knocked unconscious and doused in kerosene--"

"_Doused in kerosene?_"

"Son, _calm down._ Kyle is already frightened enough, and we need you to bring him down, not get him any more worked up, alright?"

I gulped, took a deep breath, and nodded, "...Right."

"Because he was found in such a state, and because of Saturday's suspicious accident, it's now the department's certainty that there is somebody out there that means to kill Kyle."

I could literally feel my heart stop beating for a moment then. I felt a hand on my shoulder and saw that my parents were there behind me. "_But--Why--Wha--Who would do this? Who would want Kyle dead?_" I yelled. I couldn't believe this was happening.

"Calm down," the cop said again, "We think that maybe Kyle saw his assailant and that's why he's so dramatized right now. He refuses to speak to anyone. We need you to try and ask him if he truly did see who was responsible and try and get a description of the person and such, so that we can catch this guy before he tries it again."

I slowly nodded, "...Alright."

"Alright?"

I nodded more firmly, "Yeah."

I approached Kyle, quietly and cautiously. I told myself over and over: _Stan, don't start crying. Stan, don't you start crying..._ But by the time I reached him, and stood behind him silent for a while, I already felt the tears in my eyes. He just stood there, his eyes wide and settled on his house, more particularly the charred window of his room. Tears streamed down his face, but he was quiet. I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and he flinched, but didn't take his stare off the house, and he clenched the green blanket he had around him tighter.

I gently stroked my fingers through his hair, trying to find the right words. I found that his hair was wet, as was his entire body. He smelled a little of the kerosene, and I could see that the flammable liquid had left noticeable red spots and sores on his skin on his arms, neck, face, and I imagined everywhere else. Most noticeably were his hands' knuckles, where I could see that some of the skin was starting to peel away. My hand must have ran over the spot where he was knocked in the head, because he cringed and I retracted my hand quickly.

He then slowly turned his head to look at me, and he looked as if he had just realized that I was there. His lip quivered slightly and he slowly moved closer to me, clinging to my jacket, as I wrapped my arms around him and held him as he cried.

"_It's alright..._" I tried to comfort by rubbing his back, but I noticed it hurt him a little, and so I returned to gently stroking his hair with extra caution and care. "_You're safe now... it's alright... Kyle, you're safe now, thank God... it's okay. I'm here... and it's alright..._"

He pulled away a little to look up at me, and I cupped his face with my hands, "_Stan... I love you..._"

"_I love you too, Kyle._" I kissed his forehead, but he moved so that our lips touched. I felt his grasp on my jacket tighten and he pulled me even closer.

"_I love you, Stan_," he repeated without taking his lips from mine.

"_I love you, Kyle_," I answered. I slowly pulled away, even though Kyle seemed to not want to. "_Kyle... tell me what happened... who did this to you?_"

He stared back at me with widened eyes and a frightened look. I knew from that, just by internal instinct, that he had indeed seen who had tried to murder him. I saw his eyes slowly drift away, looking over my shoulder, before he quickly shut them tightly and buried his face in my shoulder. "_I don't know_..." he said with his voice muffled.

I turned my head to look where he had looked and saw his brother staring at us. Well, he wasn't exactly staring at _us_, but more at his brother. There was something about the look in his eyes that scared me, and I thought it ridiculous for such a thought to enter my mind. The boy suddenly saw me staring at him and his eyes widened, cheeks flushed, and he quickly turned around and started to walk towards his mom, who was speaking with my parents at the time.

I decided that I wouldn't trouble Kyle anymore that night about who he had seen. I could tell that I wasn't going to get an answer from him, at least not any time soon. But I knew that he knew who it was. It was really tearing me up to just imagine it. _Somebody was trying to **kill** Kyle._ I couldn't believe it. Why would somebody want to do that? Why Kyle? What did he ever do? Who would do this?

For some reason, I just couldn't shake the thought from my mind. I didn't know exactly why I suspected him of all people. I mean, Ike was his brother. He wouldn't try to hurt his _own brother_, would he? It was entirely ridiculous.

My parents insisted that the Broflovski's stay the night at our house, while the investigation continued the rest of the night at their home. While Kyle took a shower in attempt to get rid of the kerosene smell stained on his skin even after he had already been thoroughly cleaned before, I went to reassure that the idea of Ike being his brother's assailant as a completely absurd one.

I saw him shyly watching as our parents were talking with one another. Kyle's mom was still pretty worked up about everything and my mother was trying to console her, as my dad spoke quietly with Kyle's in a separate, but similar conversation. "Hey," I said to Ike.

He looked up at me, "...Hey..."

"I'm gonna go get a glass of water. You want one too?"

He nodded.

"Come on," I gestured with my head towards the kitchen and he followed me. As I filled our two glasses, I watched him. He was so quiet. He kept his eyes on his feet, as he chewed on his nails. "It's pretty scary, huh?" I handed him a glass of water.

He looked up at me as he took it, "What?"

"I mean... you're brother has almost died twice this weekend... it's pretty scary."

He blinked at me and took a small sip from his glass, "Uh huh..."

"You know," I said leaning on the counter in front of me, "My sister and I fought a lot. I thought I hated her and that I wouldn't give a damn when she would leave to college. But then she left, and I really do miss her." I smiled at Ike, "I bet if I were to go back in time four years when she still lived here with us, and ask myself if I would miss her, I'd answer '_Hell no!_' but I do." I laughed a little, "I get so excited when she comes back to visit us around the holidays and my parent's anniversary and stuff. I'm always so happy to see her... But... I didn't realize how much I really loved her until she was gone, you know?"

He was quiet. He looked at me for a split second and his cheeks turned pink and he looked away at the counter in front of him. "...Yeah..."

"You think you'll miss Kyle when he goes to college?"

He looked at me with his mouth opened a little. He shut it and looked away. "...I hate Kyle."

I frowned a little, "Don't say that... you don't mean it. You're the little brother and I know how that is... believe me, it's just--"

He shook his head, "_I hate Kyle._" I could see the twelve-year-old's eyes water.

"Why?"

He looked at me, "_He's ruining my life_."

I blinked at him, "Ike, he's just your big brother and it may seem that--"

He shook his head again, "_I hate him_."

I was quiet. I didn't really know what to think of Ike's behavior. The way he spoke... it was so convincing. I sighed. "Someday, Ike, you're going to realize just how much you really do love your brother." I stood up straight and started to leave the kitchen to go and check on Kyle. I looked back at Ike, who stared at me, "Let's just hope that it won't be too late by then."


	9. Chapter 8

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**Kyle's POV**

**Chapter 8**

"Let's go over this again, okay, Kyle?"

"...Okay."

"You were asleep and you felt something that woke you up. Right?"

"...Yeah."

"Tell me what happened again."

"...I woke up..."

"...And?"

"...I... noticed that I... felt wet and I smelled something like gas or something... I sat up in bed... and then there was a bright white flash of light... as I felt something... hit my head... and... that was it..."

"What about the light switch?"

"...what?"

"Yesterday you told me that you woke up, felt that you were wet, sat up, and flipped the light switch at your bedside."

"...I did?"

The cop nodded.

I was really tired. I sighed deeply and let my head fall onto the kitchen table, where I kept it rested as I watched the detective, Officer Harris, who had been bothering me for the past two nights after the fire. He'd been asking me the same questions over and over again. Everyone was. He slid the tape recorder which documented our conversations aside, and put another next to it which he retrieved from his briefcase. I watched him play with the buttons... rewind, then play, stop, rewind, play again, stop, rewind, play, stop, forward, stop, and play. I closed my eyes as I listened tiredly.

"_I didn't see anything_," my voice echoed from the player.

"_Nothing? Not anyone?_" the policeman's voice came.

"_...No._"

"_Tell me what happened again._"

"_...I-I woke up, 'cause I felt like... a splash... I-I saw that... I was all wet... and it smelled like gasoline or... something... I... sat up and... I... I... I-I-I thought I... might've heard something, but... I... sat up. I leaned over and... turned on the lights... and then... I felt something hit m-my head... and then it was all white... and... I just... I-I woke up and... I was in the ambulance..."_

The detective pressed stop and then just stared at me. I blinked back at him, keeping quiet.

"So," he said, "What is it, Kyle? Did you or did you not turn on the lights?"

"...I... I... I guess I did." I gulped, "Uh, yeah. I did. ...I just... forgot..."

He nodded, "So you sat up, turned on the lights... you didn't try and make a run for it?"

"...No... I... I... didn't have time to react, he knocked me out before I could do anything..."

"He knocked you out before you could do anything?" he repeated.

"...Uh... I... I... I dunno... I meant..."

"So you _did_ see something?"

"No!"

"But you said _He_ knocked you out--"

"But I-I didn't mean that--"

"Kyle, when I spoke with him earlier today, your father told me that he found you on the ground, as if you tried to get out of bed and was then knocked unconscious."

"I-I-I... I just was... I--"

"And if you _did_ turn on the lights, you should have had seen _something_, especially somebody who had just drenched you with kerosene, and was standing there, in what had to be considerable distance, ready to give you a blow to the head."

I bit my lip and looked down at the surface of the table in front of me. "...I... I didn't see anything..."

"Kyle," he said with a sigh, "there's no reason to be hiding anything. Why don't you want to tell me who did this? You shouldn't be afraid. Once you tell us who it is, we'll make certain he never hurts you again, alright?"

"...But I-I didn't see anyone."

I knew I was lying, and I knew he could tell. Stan could tell too. I think everyone could. I was really terrible at this sort of thing. I guess something like that was really hard to hide.

* * *

After I returned home with my family that Sunday night when we had dinner with Stan's family, I went to my room to study for a couple hours, took a shower, and then went to bed. 

I woke up that night, immediately sitting up in bed, when I felt something splash all over me. I gagged as I felt it still pour down on my head. As I recognized the taste and smell to be something like gasoline, I felt for the light switch on the wall.

When I saw him, I froze. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that.

Ike stared back at me with a look I had never seen from him before. It was angry, and sad at the same time; as if some regret hid behind those threatening, menacing blue eyes. I couldn't really comprehend what was happening for a long time. I thought back to the previous day, and the car accident, and my strange, incomprehensible fear I had struck up against my brother since then.

"...Ike?" I said weakly and dumbly as I watched my brother grab for a baseball bat that leaned by the side of my bed. When I saw his white knuckles curl around the object, I finally realized what my brother was planning and I threw of my bed sheets to jump out of bed and try and escape. Before I could get my second foot out of bed, I was knocked out.

That night was the most confusing one I had ever experienced. When I was conscious again, I still seemed to have a lost grip on reality. I kept thinking: _Why would Ike do this? He couldn't have... I was hallucinating. Ike is my brother. He wouldn't do this. Why would he? He couldn't have..._

My family and I weren't allowed back into our home after that. We stayed with the Marsh family for the night. I remembered taking a shower, and then having to dry myself off with the most care because of these rashes and sores on my skin, which would only begin to disappear three days later. They were caused by the kerosene my brother had drenched me in. _My brother_... I still couldn't believe it.

The thought was tormenting.

I cried for the majority of that night. I really couldn't help it. I tried not to for a long time, but I just couldn't stand it. I was able to keep myself together until I went to bed that night with Stan in his room, and then I broke down. Stan held me and cried too. He didn't say anything, and neither did I. We just cried, until we both fell asleep.

That next morning Stan woke me up with a kiss on the forehead, "I'm just going to take a shower. I'll only be gone for five minutes," he whispered, "Just stay in bed." He kissed me, "Go back to sleep."

I smiled and closed my eyes. I heard him leave the room, and then turned onto my other side, and waited for sleep again. I couldn't though. I felt tired, but I just couldn't sleep.

I stayed in bed, laying on my back, and staring up at the ceiling, waiting for Stan to return. After a little while, I picked up on a small sound coming from the next room.

...It was crying.

...It was Ike.

I hesitated, but I got out of bed, and I went to my brother. My body felt so cold as I came to the door of the room, which I knew had once been Shelly's but she was gone, and Ike was allowed to use it for the night. I paused before I gently knocked on the door, paused again, and then slowly opened it.

I saw that he sat on the bed, and he blinked at me with swollen, red, watery eyes. His cheeks glistened with tears. I stood, hiding behind the halfway opened door, staring at him. He stared back at me for a long time with a blank look and then covered his face with his hands, and began to cry again.

I hesitated again, but I stepped into the room, and closed the door behind me.

He looked up at me, "Go away!" he shouted.

It scared me a little, but I held my breath, and took a small step towards him, "...Why are you crying, Ike?"

He didn't answer, but lowered his head, hiding most of his face behind his long bangs, and sniffed loudly.

I took another step towards him, "Ike..."

"_Just go away._ _I hate you. Just leave me the hell alone._"

"...Ike... what'd I do?" one more step, "...Ike, I--"

"Just go! Leave me alone!" he looked up at me. I saw my brother clench his fists tightly, and his whole body shook a lot, "_Go away!_" he yelled, "_Don't act like you care! I know you don't care! Go on and tell the police! Tell them I did it! You don't care!_"

"_Of course I care, Ike_," I said. I was quiet after that. It took a while for me to work up the courage to get myself to walk over to Ike, but I did, and sat beside him on the bed. "Ike..." I said quietly, "I'm not going to tell the police that it was you." I paused and took a deep breath. I was crying then and starting to shake just as my brother did beside me. "I...I don't know why you did this, Ike... I don't know what I did... I'm sorry. ..._I'm sorry_. I-I-I... I won't say anything. _I care about you_. You're my brother and I... I _do_ love you, even though we're not the _closest_ family. Ike," I looked sincerely at him and he stared back at me, "I think... I think you're just... sick, Ike... and... and that's okay. Ike, it's alright. You can get better. ...It isn't your fault. ...People get sick all the time, you... you just have to get better..."

He stared at me for a while and then lowered his head again. He sniffed, "...So... so, you're not going to tell on me?"

I shook my head, "No."

"...Why?"

"...Well, like I said... 'cause your my brother."

"...But, I'm adopted."

I nodded, "Yeah, so?" I tried to smile. I wanted to hug him, but I was just too scared. Scared to hug my own brother... it was so horrible and heart wrenching at the same time. I tried so many times to attempt to get myself to wrap my arms around him, but I just couldn't. _It was terrible_.

I stood up and started to leave the room. I stopped at the doorway and tried again to smile at Ike. "I love you, Ike. You're still my brother."

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know what to think. I was still scared. All I wanted to do was forget it all. Everyone seemed to leave me alone for a day. They were quiet. I was quiet. Nothing was said. I tried to act like nothing happened.

It would've felt like nothing happened if it wasn't for the strange behavior I received from Stan. He never left my side. Not once. I went to the bathroom and Stan was there, saying "It's not like it's something I haven't seen." Still, I thought it was a little excessive and I had to forcefully push him out of the bathroom, assuring him it was safe for me to be alone for thirty seconds so that I could take a piss in privacy.

It wasn't just that, but he was going even more romantically overboard than usual. He didn't allow me to walk through any doorway, or turn any corner, without him surveying the area for safety first. He didn't let me fall behind him when we walked together. I either had to be directly at his side, or two steps in front of him. "_Two steps!_" he screamed in a panicked voice, alerting every student and teacher in the hallway when I didn't realize that I had accidentally wandered to three. Stan even went so far as to get excused from every class he had that Monday, to escort me. He told the teachers that I was "at risk" and explained that I was nearly killed twice over the weekend and that the maniac could be anywhere, and that it was necessary to my safety that he was present at all times. It was a nice gesture, but I really would have preferred if he didn't. Now the entire school was aware that somebody had attempted to murder me twice over the weekend. I heard apologies and support from people I never knew before. It did nothing but multiply the stress and frustration I was feeling by ten, at the least.

We were allowed back into our home later that day, when I got home from school. I, however, was without a room. I lost just about everything. My entire closet of clothes was gone. The week long collection of homework assignments, I had worked so hard to make up were now nothing but ash, as well as my textbooks.

When I first walked into my destroyed room, everything felt so unreal. And I couldn't stand to be in there for more than ten minutes. I couldn't stand it.

I just wanted to forget.

But I wasn't allowed to forget. Just an hour after being let back into our home, Officer Harris was there, with plenty of questions. And he would return the next day, and the next, and I imagine everyday at exactly seven 'o clock, for two hours, until I would give the answers he wanted, but I simply refused to give. After the next day, I could tell that the cop had asked my parents and Stan to try and get through to me themselves. They were asking the same questions, in horrible attempts to make it all sound casual.

* * *

The detective finally gave up and pressed stop on the recorder. "I'll be back tomorrow," he said, which was no surprise, as he packed his things up. I left the kitchen and walked out to the living room, where Stan was curled up in a blanket on the sofa, which had served as our bed for the past two nights. Stan refused to go home. Our parents allowed him to stay, so as long as we slept in the living room, where we were certain not to "do" anything. 

Stan immediately sat up straight when I entered the room. "You done?"

I nodded and joined him on the sofa. I sighed, "I just wanna go to sleep," I said before he got the chance to ask what was discussed.

He nodded and we began to get situated on the sofa for bed. As we got ready, my mom and dad were speaking quietly at the door with Officer Harris. "Stan?" the cop suddenly called out.

"Uh, yeah?" Stan answered.

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Uh... yeah. I'm where Kyle is," he said.

"I'm going to talk with you tomorrow. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Stan looked at me and frowned.

"I just wanna sleep, Stan," I said again before he could say something.

My mother came and kissed me on the forehead, just as she had began to do every night since the accident. "Goodnight," she said as she shut off the light.

"Night, Ma," I said.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Broflovski," Stan said, "Goodnight, Mr. Broflovski."

"Goodnight, Stan," my parents said as I heard them begin to climb the staircase, up to their own rooms for the night.

Somehow I knew Stan wasn't going to be able to keep quiet. "Kyle?" he whispered in the dark.

"What?"

"...Why won't you say who you saw?"

"I didn't see anyone."

"...Why are you lying?"

"_I'm not_."

"Kyle..." I knew he was going to start crying.

"Stan, please," I said, "Don't."

"Why won't you just--"

"Stan, you're being too emotional--"

"_Kyle, you were almost killed!_"

I kept quiet. I tightened my hold I had around him.

"Please... tell me. _I love you._"

"...I can't."

"...Can I just have a guess then?"

"What?"

"Just one guess. One name."

"...Okay."

"Ike."

I couldn't believe how quick the name came. How could he ever even suspect him? I was quiet for a while. "...That's ridiculous."


	10. Chapter 9

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic by the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**STAN'S POV**

**Chapter 9**

**

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. I really have no excuses. Sorry. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up in less than a week's time to make up for it all. Also, not a lot happens in this horribly short chapter, so I feel like I should get something else up this week. I'm not making any promises, but just know that Bobby will _try_.

* * *

**

I blacked out. I'd have never done that before.

Kyle knew that I knew that he knew that Ike was the person trying to kill him. So why wouldn't he just admit it to me? I just couldn't believe his behavior. How could he trust that evil little thing more than me? He obviously did. After all, he went on acting like nothing like happened, didn't turn the maniac in, all the while he was telling me that I was being "clingy" and "weirder than usual."

He was supposed to wait for me in the library while I finished up an after school officer's meeting for ASB. I would have preferred for him to stay in the room where I could keep a close eye on him, but he said he needed the use of a computer to work on his English essay. So after a rather lengthy argument between the two of us, I caved in and let him go to the library, under the condition that if he were to see _him_, he'd run.

"Him who?"

"You know who."

And he did. I knew he did. He said he didn't. But he did. And I knew that he knew that I knew that he did.

So I blacked out. The meeting was coming to a close. I glanced out the open doorway. I saw Kyle. I panicked. Then I saw _him_. I panicked even more. I swear to God, I thought that I saw the kid charging at his brother. I swear I saw something like that. I swear I heard Kyle scream. I swear everything in my view become horribly stained with blood. Kyle's blood. I panicked. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor with a pounding headache, blinking stupidly up at Kyle and the other officers who crowded around me.

"Stan, are you okay?" Kyle had been crying. I could see the tear stains on his cheeks, glistening in the sun which seemed a hell of a lot brighter than what was normal.

I immediately flung my arms around him, and squeezed him tightly. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Stan, I'm fine." He frowned as I frantically searched him all over for some sort of knife wound or traces of blood. "Stan… are _you_ okay?" he repeated.

I nodded.

He helped me stand up. "We should get you home."

"How long was I out?" I asked as I at last grasped the reality that I had fainted.

"For a good three or four minutes," he frowned again. He kept his arms wrapped around my waist, and his head resting on my shoulder, as we started to leave the school campus. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," I said. "I just… I saw you and then your brother and I just--"

"Stan, Ike's been home since school let out. Mom picked him up right after school, remember?"

"I swear I saw him."

Kyle frowned.

The next several minutes of our walk home was in complete silence. I kept my eyes on Kyle, where they had been glued to for the last week. Kyle kept his gaze on his traveling feet. I could tell that he was avoiding looking at me.

"He didn't mean any harm," Kyle said quietly after a long time.

I stopped walking. Kyle stopped too. I could see that he was trying his best not to cry again. He still had his stare fixed on his raggedy, untied sneakers. "Who didn't mean any harm? You mean _him_?"

"Stan, I--" he stopped and looked up at me. Our eyes locked. He lowered his head a little, but kept those emerald eyes fixed with mine. He took a deep breath and started again. "Stan, I'm sorry." He paused for a long time, and I couldn't tell whether or not he was finished talking. "Stan…." his voice was so much lower than usual. He sounded so serious and adult-like. I've heard him talk like this before, but rarely. He used the voice only when he absolutely needed to get something very important across to me. "I know you're concerned. I know you think that I'm probably insane for not turning my brother in. But I can't. It's hard, Stan. And-- I've been so confused as to what I should do about it all. …But the one thing that has been absolutely certain this whole time is that I won't betray my little brother. Ever. …Do you understand?"

I nodded. I honestly didn't truly understand, but I don't think I would ever be able to.

"I talked to him," Kyle continued about a minute and a half after we started walking again. "I still don't know why he did it, but I could just tell that he didn't mean it, you know?"

"Kyle, he tried to--"

"Stan--"

"But he deliberately--"

"Stan--"

"You can't think that he didn't mean to do something when he--"

He stopped walking. I could see he was going to cry and I felt instantly guilty. "_You don't get it_," he choked. "_I just can't turn him in._" He wiped at his eyes and I brought him close to me. He sniffed, "You have to promise you won't either."

"Kyle… I dunno…. I--"

"You have to!"

"…Alright."

He kissed me, and we continued on our way to his house.

* * *

That cop was there waiting for Kyle when we got to his house. He didn't take as long as he usually did with him though. When I saw Kyle emerge from the kitchen after just five minutes into the living room where I watched TV, I wondered and secretly prayed that he had caved in and turned in Ike. 

"Your turn," Kyle said glumly as he sat beside me.

"Oh," I stood up.

He grabbed my arm before I left, "Remember. You promised."

I nodded, "I know."

"Hello, Stan," the detective greeted as soon as I wandered into the kitchen. "How are you? Take a seat."

I sat opposite of him. "Fine," I answered plainly. I kept my eyes on the tape recorder on the table. I felt a sudden wave of anxiety.

I watched him scribble down notes in a notepad.

_Kyle hasn't told me anything. Kyle hasn't told me anything. **Kyle hasn't told me anything.**_

"So Mrs. Broflovski was telling me that your class president over at SPHS."

"Kyle hasn't told me anything."

"What?"

"Oh." Shit. "Nothing."

"…Uh huh. So, Stan you and Kyle are pretty close, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Boyfriends?"

"Yeah."

"Three years?"

"Yeah."

"From what I've witnessed, there's no tearing you away from him, huh?"

I laughed a little. It was a nervous laugh. It didn't seem to help me that much.

"Stan, why don't you think Kyle is naming who did this?"

"Oh. I dunno. He… he hasn't told me anything. I dunno."

"I think I have an idea as to why."

I gulped, "Oh… yeah?"

"Yeah," he paused to lean forward a little toward me, "I think Kyle knows this person really well."

"Oh… yeah?"

"Yeah. I think Kyle is covering up for this person."

"…Oh…yeah?"

"Yeah. I think he's doing it because he loves this person very much and holds him dear to his heart."

"…Oh…" my mouth was dry, "…yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Stan?"

"…Uh huh?"

"The fire that was started in Kyle's room that night. It's estimated to have occurred at about eleven that evening. Stan, where were you at eleven that night?"

**_Shit._** "What? I… I was home. My parents were there. We were all sleeping."

He stared at me for a long while and I didn't like it.

"I-- I was woken up and told that something happened to Kyle… the… the world practically fucking ended right there for me! You can't think that I had something to do with it-- You can't think that I would hurt Kyle! _You can't think that I would try and kill him! I'd never do that! **Never! I'd have to completely lose my fucking head to do something like that! It wasn't me! HOW COULD YOU THINK IT WAS ME?"**_

I realized I was standing. I immediately sat back down. He stared at me, quiet. God, I hated that stare. It was so accusing. I couldn't stand it. I set my eyes on my folded hands in my lap.

"Sorry…" I muttered, "I just got… so pissed that you would accuse me of doing something like that to the one thing that matters most to me…."

"I didn't accuse you of anything, Stan."

I didn't say anything. I bit my lip. The cop didn't talk for a long time. I felt horrible. "…Can I go now, please? If… you don't have any more questions, I mean…."

"Yeah. You can go now."

I explained to Kyle what had happened and how the police thought it was me then. Kyle seemed horrified at it all, but when Kyle's mom came out of the kitchen after talking with Officer Harris and told me that she thought that I should probably go home for the night, Kyle didn't argue.

"She's doing this 'cause she believes that fucking cop," I said as he walked me to the door.

Kyle bit his lip. "It's okay, Stan. I'm sure that he'll change his mind about you soon enough."

"You have to tell them the truth, Kyle."

"Stan, I thought you understood that--"

"Yeah, well maybe you'll understand all this by the time they send me to prison."

Kyle took a step closer to me and took my hands. "Don't say things like that. You know I wouldn't let things get that far."

"Then how far?" I looked above Kyle's shoulder from where I stood at the doorway on the porch of the Broflovski home. I saw Ike sitting on the staircase. I shuddered. "Kyle… if something happens. You know… you get a bad feeling, even if it's really small-- if you get the least bit afraid of… him. You come to my house, alright?"

Kyle nodded, "Sure."

"Straight to my house. And you be sure to run when you do."

Kyle sighed.

"I'm serious."

"…I know."

"I just don't want anything to happen to you again, Kyle…"

"I know."

I gave him a small kiss on the cheek and turned to leave.

"Stan," he said just as I had taken a few steps.

I turned around and looked at him.

"I love you," he said.

I tried to smile. I fought back tears. "I love you too," I answered.

I felt so horrible for leaving him like that, but it wasn't as if it were my choice. I hated the thought of not being there to protect him for the rest of the afternoon and night. He could pretend that he wasn't afraid. He could tell me that the way I was acting was ridiculous. But he knew what was happening, and he was just as scared as me.

* * *

That night, Kyle showed up. I was already asleep, but I woke up when I felt somebody wrap their arms around me. I opened one eye and saw it was him and brought him closer. I could hear his breathing. It was hard and unsteady and he was out of breath. I knew that he had been running. I waited for him to talk, but he didn't. But it wasn't needed. Everything was understood. 


	11. Chapter 10

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**KYLE'S POV**

**Chapter 10**

When I woke up the next morning with Stan holding me so close and tight, I felt so incredibly safe. Nothing could harm me. Stan just wouldn't allow for such a thing. Not while he was there.

I was so lucky to have him.

I watched Stan for a while, until he roused himself awake. He smiled a sleepy, weak smile, yawned, nuzzled his face against mine, and then kissed me ever so gently on the brow. "You want breakfast?" he said with a half yawn.

I shook my head, "I should probably sneak back home before my parents wake up and find me missing."

"Oh," he said seeming disappointed.

I tried to pull away so that I could get myself out of bed, but Stan kept a firm hold on me.

"Kyle?"

"What?" I frowned.

"Are you alright?"

I nodded.

"Did anything… happen? Last night?"

I paused for a brief moment, "…No. I just…"

"Just what?"

I shook my head, "I just got scared."

"How?"

I sighed. I both hated and loved Stan for his stubborn ways throughout this entire ordeal. "Nothing, it just-- I woke up in the middle of the night and… he was just there. It just scared me a little…."

"…A _little_? Jesus, if I woke up and saw that freak standing there-- I'd be scared shitless."

"_Stan_."

"…What was he doing?"

"Nothing…. Just standing there…."

"Was he looking at you?"

"…I dunno, it was dark."

Stan kissed me. The abrupt passion was very sudden and unexpected. He refused to let me pull away for a long time. He kept his lips pressed hard against my own, and his fingers clutching my curls tightly, but gently. I could then feel his lips start to quiver a little, and his grasp of my hair loosened, and he slowly pulled away, resting his forehead on mine. I kept my eyes closed and breathed unison breaths with Stan. I heard him sniff. I felt my heart ache.

"Stan… I love you."

He gave a short laugh. "God, we've told each other this everyday since…" his voice trailed off. I opened my eyes and saw him staring at me with the most breathtaking look of compassion. "I love you too."

I smiled.

He smiled.

"…I should go."

He nodded, "Right."

He finally let me go and I got out of bed.

"Be safe," he said before I left.

"I'll see you at school."

* * *

When I got home from school later that day, I for once wasn't greeted by Officer Harris. I wasn't sure on whether I should be relieved or concerned over this fact. He did after all have Stan as a suspect, according to Stan, and I had been planning to tell the detective that Stan could never be the one responsible for my attempted murders. I wanted to clear his name desperately, especially when my mom surprisingly showed up to pick me up right after school, refusing to let me stay after with Stan. 

I was doing my homework at the dining room table when I looked out the window and saw the familiar police cruiser pull up. It wasn't all that surprising. What _was _surprising was when I saw Officer Harris step out of the vehicle, followed by Stan.

I immediately got up from the table and went to meet them at the door.

"Hello, Kyle," the cop said stepping inside.

"Hey…" I answered warily, glancing at Stan to try and read some sort of answer, as to what was happening, off his face, but he avoided eye contact with me. He looked nervous and kept his eyes on the ground, wringing his hands.

"Is your brother home?" the detective asked, already walking towards the staircase.

"Ike?" I gulped. "Uh… why?" I glanced at Stan. He was biting his lip and looking pleadingly at me, already apologizing for what I already figured out he had done.

"Is he home? I just want to talk with him for a moment or two." My dad walked in and he spotted him. "Ah, Mr. Broflovski. May I have short talk with your son, Ike?"

Stan then pulled me aside. We walked away a reasonable distance from everybody. "Stan! You didn't!" I exclaimed as soon as we were in private.

"I did! I'm sorry!" He cried desperately, "He showed up at school, in the ASB room and started talking with me and-- I cracked! I swear I didn't mean to tell! I mean I wanted to! But I didn't want to 'cause I knew you didn't want to but then he was still hinting at how I was the one who did it and I just-- I'm sorry, Kyle!" He paused only to catch his breath for a split second, "It's alright though… I… I don't even think he believed me…." He looked up at me, "Please, Kyle… I'm sorry. I really am… I just--"

"…It's okay… I… I understand."

I felt immediately choked up. I tried to contain myself, but I couldn't help it. Stan quickly wrapped his arms around me when he recognized that I was going to start crying. I buried my face in his shoulder and cried.

"…I'm sorry…."

"…it's not your fault, Stan… I… I know you didn't mean to… I'm just scared now… I dunno what's going to happen… Oh god. I hope he doesn't believe it…."

I felt Stan pull away a little and I looked up at him. He stared down at me with his mouth opened a bit. He blinked at me a few times. "How could you say that?"

"…What?"

"Kyle, he-- _You hope that the cop doesn't believe what I say?_ I--I-- So you just hope that _what_? _What then_? He goes on thinking I'm some mental?"

"No. Stan, I didn't mean that--"

"No. It's okay. He's your brother."

"…Right."

"Right. He's your brother. Sure, he tried to kill you. Once. Twice. Oh, he showed up in the middle of the night just randomly standing there while you slept, thus causing you to terrifyingly run in the mid of night to my house. But he's your _brother_. So it's okay. _It's all good_."

"_Stan!_" I felt my eyes sting with tears, "_You're being mean!_"

His face softened and he frowned, pulling me closer once more. "…Sorry."

We held each other in silence for a long time. It was interrupted by the detective who announced that he needed to talk with me now. When I went into the kitchen, my brother was just leaving. He was crying.

"Do you know what Stan told me?" Officer Harris asked.

I looked at him, "…Yeah." I glanced at the door that my brother had just disappeared through. "What did you tell him?"

"Who? Stan?"

"No. My brother. What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything. I just asked him a few questions."

"Then why is he crying? What did you say? What did you do?"

The cop paused for a moment, and after a while, he opened his mouth to speak.

"My brother didn't do anything," I interrupted.

He raised an eyebrow, folded his hands, and leaned towards me.

"I told Stan about a fight my brother and I had earlier," I started to lie. "I made a sorta joke on how he was probably the one responsible for it all. Stan's really paranoid. He's so freaked out about everything. So I guess he just sorta jumped to conclusions."

Officer Harris remained quiet.

"Ike didn't do anything," I repeated, "He's my brother."

He was still quiet for a while. "…I see…."

"Stan didn't do anything either," I said. "I love Stan. And he loves me. He saved my life at the car accident, don't you remember? How could you ever think he would try to kill me? Do you know how distraught he was after your interrogation? And not over himself either. He was upset because my mom seemed to take your word, no longer trusted him to be with me, sent him home for the night, and he was distraught that something would happen to me during his absence. How could you ever think someone as devoted and caring like that could be a murderer?"

He smiled a little. I didn't know what to think of it. I didn't know if he believed what I said about Ike or Stan.

"…So," he said after a while, "then if it isn't Stan, and it isn't Ike… then who is it, Kyle?"

"…I don't know."

"Are you sure about that?"

I nodded.

"For some reason, Kyle. I don't think you are."

As soon as the detective was through with me and left our house for the day, I went to make sure my brother was okay. Stan came too, but I told him to wait by the door. "This should between only him and me," I said.

He looked like he was about to voice an opinion, but I shut him up with a kiss, before going into my brother's room and closing the door behind me.

My brother was on his belly on his bed, with his face buried in a pillow. His cries were audible, but muffled; they had the same effect on my heart as I guessed they would at full volume. I slowly made my over to him and sat beside him on the bed. He didn't seem to notice me. I kept quiet and then placed my hand on his back, planning to try and soothe him somehow, but he abruptly looked up, saw me, and sat up.

He looked furious with me. He stared at me with a look of "_How dare you_."

And then all of a sudden, I found myself desperately trying to pull his hands off my neck. He was on me so fast, it was hard to realize it was happening for a while, until I realized that I couldn't breathe.

He was choking me and he did it with all his strength. "_You lied!_" he screamed.

I coughed and still fought to get him to let go.

"_You lied! You told me you wouldn't tell the cops and you did! **You lied and I believed you!**_"

I could feel my lungs physically ache. "_N-no!_" I managed to choke, "_I didn't! Ike pl-ease!_"

I was beginning to feel dizzy then. I gasped desperately for air and beat at my brother's hands even more, only to feel his grasp tighten. "**_LIAR! They think it's me! You snitched! LIAR!_**"

"_It--was--Stan!_"

"**_LIAR! LIAR! LIAR! STAN WOULD NEVER DO THAT! STAN WOULD NEVER EVER EVER EVER DO THAT! HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT! YOU LIE! YOU LIE! I HATE YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!_**" he shook me now as he continued to choke me with strength I never knew he had before. I kicked my legs, but it did nothing.

I think "I'll kill you!" were the magic words. Stan ran in and screamed. Ike let go and quickly fell off of me. I rolled over on my side, coughed, gasped for air, coughed some more, made another frantic gasp, and then coughed like there was no tomorrow.

Stan rushed for me. He grabbed me and held me close and tight. I clung to him. I was shaking all over and still coughing and crying. He was crying too and he screamed at Ike. "**_Get away from him! You're crazy! Get away from him, you little freak! GET AWAY!_**"

Ike stared at Stan with wide eyes. He cried. He was standing beside the bed then. I watched his knees shake and then he fell to the floor. He crawled over to Stan's feet and cried nonsense. Stan kicked him. I slapped Stan.

Everything was instantly quiet after that loud _smack!_

Stan stared at me in disbelief. He looked like he was asking: "Did you just smack me?"

Ike looked equally shocked: "Did he just smack him?"

_Did I just smack him?_

Stan gently touched the red, hand-shaped mark on the side of his face.

"_…I'm so sorry!_" I exclaimed.

"…What… what the hell was that for?" he said still in a state of shock.

"You kicked him!" I said.

"Yeah so? You didn't have to smack me like that!"

"_So? _He's my brother! You don't kick him! He's not a dog!"

"He was choking you to death!"

"And when he's trying to apologize, you kick him!"

"I-- he-- Okay, sorry! But he was choking you!" He rubbed the spot, "…I can't believe you hit me…"

"I know… it was like a reflex, I'm sorry." I paused, "And don't apologize to me! You apologize to Ike!"

"What? But he--"

"You _kicked _him!"

Stan sighed. "Sorry, Ike," he muttered.

Ike blinked up at Stan.

"It's just… crap. I'm really sorry, Ike. I didn't mean it. I just got so mad that you were crying after doing something so-- I'm sorry. I just-- You're-- I only-- You-- I-- I-- I should shut up now, huh?"

I nodded.

Ike sniffed and wiped at his eyes. He stood up from the floor. "Can you get out of my room?" he asked quietly.

I got up first and Stan followed. As soon as we were out of the room, Stan yelled: "That hurt!"

"Sorry."

He sighed. "Kyle, you can't still want to not turn him in _now_."

"He wouldn't have attacked me if you hadn't ratted to the cops."

"Yes he would've! You don't know that!"

"He only choked me 'cause he thought I broke my promise and turned him in. He wouldn't have done anything else to me--"

"Yes he would! And he will! He's crazy! You're brother has tried to murder you! He'll try it again! He won't stop until he either succeeds or is locked up where he belongs!"

"Stan!"

"…Sorry. I… I… I love you. I don't want to lose you." He paused, "You have to turn him in."

"I won't."

"You have to! Please!" he fell to his knees and folded his hands, "Look at me, Kyle! Look at me! I'm begging you! Please! Turn the little fuck in!"

"Don't call him that…"

"I'm sorry, but you gotta open your eyes and realize that that's what he is."

"He isn't. He's my brother."

Stan stood up and screamed. "I'm tired of this _he's my brother_ bullshit! You know what he is, he's a murderer! A heartless murderer! I don't like it anymore than you do! I had nothing against you're brother! I liked him! I thought he was a real nice kid! But he's a murderer, Kyle! And he wants to kill you!"

I was quiet.

"Look at this!" he pulled me aside and led me to a mirror that hung on the wall of the hallway. I looked at my reflection and saw that my neck was still rather red and there were bruises already starting to appear. "Look! Look what he did! _Don't you see?_" He took my hands and showed them to me. My knuckles were still sore from where the skin had peeled away when Ike had doused me in kerosene. "Look! _See what he's done?_"

I saw. "Stan… I… I can't turn him in… I just can't. I know. But… it's just… I can't be the one to just ruin his life like that."

"It's better to take a chance at ruining his life, then not having yours."

"Stan… I… I can't." I was quiet for a long time, "But… I think tomorrow… I'll… I'll try and tell my parents… maybe… maybe we can get him counseling or something…."

"…That's good enough for now."

We walked past my brother's room, heading for the staircase.

I remembered: "**_STAN WOULD NEVER EVER EVER EVER DO THAT!_**"

I wondered why he would think that.


	12. Chapter 11

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**STAN'S POV**

**Chapter 11**

I knew that the latest incident with his brother scared Kyle. It wasn't that big of a surprise when I awoke in the middle of the night to find that he crept to my house once again. I had tried so hard to get into Kyle's mind and somehow understand why he refused to turn his brother in, but by then, I had given up. Ike was crazy. He wanted Kyle dead, for whatever reason there may be. And he had to be dealt with.

I'd give Kyle one last chance. One more day. If he didn't talk to his parents that day like he said he was going to do after his brother had nearly strangled him to death, then I would do it myself. I mean, I guess I already had, and I wasn't taken as seriously as I hoped, but I was determined to find a way. Maybe I could get the cops to bug Kyle's house or something… or maybe I could do it on my own. Whatever it took, I was determined to have Ike revealed to everyone.

Kyle assured me that morning when we woke up that he would handle it. It took me quite a long time to get him to answer: "Handle it how?"

"I'll talk with my parents," he said during lunch.

"When?"

"Soon."

"_When?_"

"…Tonight."

"What're you going to tell them?"

"I dunno."

"Well, will you tell them about yesterday?"

"I dunno."

"Do you think that they would believe you?"

"I dunno."

"Do you think that they might--"

"Stan," he interrupted. "I…" he sighed and paused for a moment. "I really don't know. …I dunno how I'm going to handle this-- how I _should_ handle this…. It's… it's just not that easy for me, okay?" We were both quiet for a long time. "I'm going to try and talk with him first--"

"What? Kyle he--"

"Stan," he held up one hand and used the other to slightly touch his forehead as if massaging a headache, "Please. …I promise I'll be alone, but I'll make sure that I'm in reasonable distance of either my mom or dad so that if anything happens…" he shook his head after a blank expression momentarily swept his face. "I want to talk with him and try to understand why and… then maybe we can ask Mom and Dad for help together… you know?"

I slowly nodded. "Well… when you talk with him, can't I at least be there with you?"

"No."

"But what if he--"

"Nothing will happen."

"But… Aside that… Kyle, I want answers too! And what if--"

"Stan, this has nothing to do with you."

I immediately felt my eyes water then. Those words really broke my heart. I turned my head, turning my eyes to somewhere else other than Kyle, trying to hide my emotion.

"…I'm sorry, Stan…."

I didn't look at him.

"I'm _sorry_," he repeated.

It only made me want to cry more. I took my juice box and even though it had not a drop of orange juice left, I bit on the straw to somehow try and create a distraction.

"Stan, _please_. I don't mean to say anything that… you just have to understand that-- _Stan. I love you._"

I closed my eyes and allowed for tears to seep out. I looked at Kyle and his eyes watered. "You do?"

"…Of… Of course I do. Why are you doubting that now?"

"I dunno. Maybe something like _This has nothing to do with you_ would trigger that…."

He stared at me for a while, "I didn't mean that-- I just… I… I meant that this should between brothers and--"

"You know I love you right?"

"Yes. I love you too."

"You know that you mean everything to me, don't you?"

"…I… you mean everything to me too, Stan… I…"

"You know that if something were to happen to you," my eyes stung with so many tears, my vision was blurred, "_it'd be the end of the world for me…. I'd just… I'd die…._"

"_Stan… I… I love you. Please don't do this. You're making me cry now…._"

"_Well, it's the truth._" I bit my lip trying to get it to stop shaking, "_And I just wanted to make sure that you knew that._"

He was quiet for a long time. He scooted closer to me on the bench we were sitting on and gently pulled my face so that I looked at him. "I _love _you. And… I… I want you to… I don't want to sound so… but… If anything were to happen to me… do you promise not to do anything to yourself? You promise that you won't… you know…."

My voice seemed to be gone. I slowly shook my head, "Look at us. …Jesus… look at what we're talking about…. Just a few weeks ago, never in a million years, would I think that we would ever have to be talking about shit like this… I… I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is what has to come between us. Of all fucking things… of all the horrible possibilities… of all the things God would throw at us… it would be this… this is what it's come to…."

"…If I were to be gone for whatever reason. Whether it's today or tomorrow or fifty years from now…. Please don't do anything stupid. Please don't… don't… don't…."

"…Kill myself?"

He nodded, shutting his eyes tightly and releasing tears from his eyes.

"…I'll sure try not to. For you."

He laughed a little. It was short and nervous and scared. He dropped his head on my shoulder, "You're such a hopeless romantic…."

I forced a smile on my face. "Pity me."

* * *

When I got home from school I immediately called Kyle on his cell. He had told me not to go to his house unless he called me and asked for my presence, but I had to admit that I was tempted to walk straight to his house after my afternoon of meetings. 

"Hello?" he answered.

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey…."

"…Did you talk to him yet?"

"…Uh huh."

"…And?"

"…It's okay," I heard him sniff. I wondered how long he had been crying and what the exact reasons were for it. "I talked to him and… he's… he's okay."

"…Are _you _okay?"

"…I'm okay, Stan…"

"…Do you want me to come over?"

"…No. …I think that… my family should have tonight alone. I mean, you're practically a part of the family, but… you understand, right?"

"…Yeah."

"…'Kay."

"…Will you at least come over tonight?"

"…Yeah. I will… I'll be there. Promise."

"…Kyle, what happened? Are you sure you're alright?"

"…Yeah, I'm fine. It's just… emotional, you know?" There was a long pause, "I… I found out why he… why he was doing it…."

"…Why?"

"…I'll tell you tonight. I should go now… I'll be there tonight."

"…Okay. Bye. I love you."

"I love you too. Bye."

* * *

That night it took me a long time to fall asleep. When I finally did, it only felt like seconds later when I felt my bed sink beside me and knew Kyle was there. He didn't say anything and I laid there with my eyes still closed, waiting. 

I felt his hands stroke my hair lovingly.

"Kyle--" I started just about to open my eyes, but he interrupted with a kiss. It was a passionate one too. One we hadn't shared in a long time. It was like he was telling me with all his heart, through a kiss, that he loved me.

Our lips only parted for a second as he moved to climb on top of me. His hands found their way into my shirt and started to massage my abdomen as we continued kissing.

It felt so good to be experiencing all these things that had been absent from our love life for all too long. It felt so fresh. Brand new. I never really felt anything like it before. I had expected it to all be so strange, simply because I forgotten how it all felt.

But Kyle felt so… new. It was like it was our first kiss again. Our first time feeling each other up. Our first time in bed.

I moved my hand to his chest as he worked his hands downward. I moaned aloud when I felt him slip a hand down my pants. While he grabbed hold of everything underneath, he planted kisses on my neck. I moaned a little louder, careful not to make too much noise.

And then I moved my fingers to his hair.

And I froze.

And my eyes shot open, but everything was dark.

And I fell back quickly.

And I flipped the light switch by my bed.

And it wasn't him.

It wasn't Kyle.

It was Ike.


	13. Chapter 12

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**STAN'S POV**

**Chapter 12**

I screamed. I pushed Ike forcefully and he tumbled off the end of the bed. I scrambled backwards, as far back as I could go up against the railing. I was so confused as to what was happening. What the fuck was Ike doing there? What the fuck was he doing? Why the fuck was he doing it? And most importantly: Where was Kyle?

I breathed hard. "_Where's Kyle?_" I shouted.

Ike stood up from the ground and then sat on the end of the bed with a shrug, "I don't know."

"_Bullshit! Where's Kyle?_"

He stared at me for a while and then looked away. He started to chew on his fingernails nervously.

I didn't have time for this crap. I got out of bed quickly and reached for my cell phone on my desk. I dialed Kyle's cell phone.

_Ring…. Ring…. Ring…. Ring…. Ring…. _"Hi, this is Kyle. I'm unable to answer the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll try to get back to you ASAP. Bye."

I slowly hung up the phone. I already felt myself beginning to tear up. And I felt sick. Really sick. I collapsed onto the floor. My mind was racing. I just couldn't process it all. It took me a while to realize that Ike had plopped down next to me and was stroking my hair.

I snapped.

I grabbed the kid by the collar with both hands and shook him, "**_Where's Kyle, you little fuck? What did you do to him? YOU DID SOMETHING! YOU DID SOMETHING I KNOW YOU DID, YOU LITTLE PERVERT! WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS HE GOD DAMMIT? YOU BETTER NOT HAVE-- IF YOU-- I--I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!_**"

"**_Stan, please!_**" he cried as I still shook him, "**_Stan! Sta-an! Please! You're hurting me!_**"

"**_I DON'T CARE! HURTING YOU? FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! YOU HURT KYLE! WHY SHOULDN'T I HURT YOU, YOU BASTARD? FUCK YOU!_**"

Ike wailed even louder, "**_PLEASE! STAN! I LOVE YOU! PLEASE! YOU'RE HURTING ME!_**"

"_Stan!_"

I let go of Ike quickly when my mom and dad walked into my room. It was no surprise that the screaming had woken my parents up. My dad rushed to where I was and yanked me away from the crying Ike, as if _I_ were the insane muderer.

"**_Where's Kyle?_**" I shouted again. I turned to my parents, "**_Call the police! He did something to Kyle! I know he did!_**"

"_Stanley, calm down_," my mom said.

"**_NO! HE'S DONE SOMETHING! I KNOW IT! WHERE'S KYLE, YOU LITTLE FREAK?_**"

"**_I don't know!_**"

"**_LIAR!_**" Ike threw his face in his hands and cried loudly, rambling nonsense, insisting that he didn't know. "**_SHUT UP!_**" I screamed at the top of my lungs.

At that instant, my mother walked passed me and helped Ike off the floor. She gave me a look as if I were crazy and led the little bastard out of my room, all while rubbing his back soothingly and telling him that everything was okay.

I was so enraged. I would have chased after them, tackled Ike to the floor, and started beating the hell out of him until he told me where Kyle was, if it weren't for my dad.

He had a phone in one hand, pressed to his ear, and he placed the other on my shoulder. "Calm down, Son."

I couldn't calm down. I had no clue where Kyle was. I had no idea if he was hurt, or okay, or… alive. All I knew was that he wasn't there. He said he would be, and he wasn't. His brother was and I just knew, in the pit of my heart, that he had done something.

"Hello? Hey, Gerald. Sorry for calling so late. It's Randy," my dad spoke on the phone. "Listen, we have a bit of a situation here. My son is convinced that something has happened to Kyle for some reason. Can you do us a favor and check on Kyle so that I can reassure my son that everything is okay? …Thanks."

I waited with held breath. I didn't know why I even hoped for something different. I already knew it deep down. Something had happened to Kyle. Why the fuck was I stupid enough to believe something otherwise even for only a split second?

"Oh," my dad said after a long pause. "So… he's not there? …He's missing. Do you know-- You don't? …I see…."

And that's when I fainted for the second time in my life.

* * *

When I came to, I was in my bed. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was four in the morning. For a few moments, I had no recollection of what had happened. When everything hit me all at once, it was so forceful, I let out a scream. I quickly threw my hands over my mouth afterward. I didn't want anyone to know that I was up. They'd probably tell me to stay laying down or some crap like that. That, I couldn't do. I needed to know if Kyle was okay. 

I crept out of my house and started running towards the Broflovski home. I ran so fast, and so hard, I could physically feel every muscle ache with pain. I pushed on though. I had to get there. Fast.

As I was running, my mind was flooded with memories. Memories with Kyle. Everything just… flashed before my eyes. My heart pained horribly; it was so near utter self implosion, as I thought of never seeing those green eyes again--never seeing that shy smile--that cute giggling-- those blushing cheeks-- never seeing all of it ever again. Never seeing him… touching him…. hugging him... kissing him… holding him. He had to be okay. He had to be alive… _Kyle_.

_Kyle_.

_Kyle._

…_What would I do if you were gone?_

The first thing I spotted was a police car parked in the driveway. I stopped running and stood there for a while, to try and catch my breath, before continuing to the front door.

After I knocked, Kyle's dad answered the door. His eyes were red, whether it was from tiredness or from crying, I couldn't tell; but whatever the reason, it couldn't be good. "…Have you found Kyle?"

He shook his head. He cleared his throat loudly and opened the door wider, "Come on in, Stan."

I stood there, watching Mr. Broflovski walking away. I saw Mrs. Broflovski enter the living room and then continue on to the kitchen. I heard talking in the kitchen. I heard crying from upstairs. Everything seemed so unreal. I just couldn't believe that this was happening.

"Stan?"

I turned and saw the detective. "How you doing?" he asked so casually.

I shook my head, still looking about the chaos of the Broflovski household, "…Horrible."

"I take it that you don't know where we might find Kyle."

I nodded, "You don't know?"

"No."

"You don't know anything? …Nothing?"

"We've got nothing."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Who?"

"Ike. He knows! He did it! You haven't questioned him yet? How could you--"

"We've questioned him, Stan," he said.

"And what'd he say?"

"He doesn't know where his brother is."

"He's lying!"

"Well, there's no way to tell that that's the case, is there?"

"He is!"

He sighs. "Is it true that you threatened him last night?"

"What?" I paused. "Well… he…."

"Do you want to know what he said?"

I nodded, "What?"

Detective Harris motioned with his hand for me to follow him. We entered the kitchen and sat down at the table he had always used for interrogations. There was a tape player on the table, that he took, played with the buttons, and then played.

"Ike?" came the detective's voice from the tape deck, "Can you tell me why you were at Stan's house so late at night?" There was a long pause. "Ike?" he repeated.

"…I… I was looking for him…" Ike's voice squeaked from the player.

"Looking for who? Your brother?"

"…Yeah. …I… was scared…."

"Why? Why were you scared, Ike?"

"…I thought that he did something to him."

"Who? Do you mean Stan?"

"…Yes."

"Why would Stan do something to Kyle? Don't you think Stan loves Kyle?"

"…No."

"No?"

"…No. …He… he… likes me."

"You?"

"…Yes."

"…Do you like him? …Ike?"

"…Yes. I… love him." I hear the kid break down in tears on the tape. He cries for a long time before he calms down. "He doesn't want to be with Kyle anymore… he wants to be with me, so he… he…."

"He wants to kill Kyle so that he can be with you?"

"…Uh huh."

"…Ike, do you know where Kyle is?"

"…No."

The detective stopped the tape. I was speechless. I was shocked. I wanted him to replay the thing so that everything could seep in.

"Stan?"

I blinked at him, "I… I… I don't know… I don't know where the hell he got all that. Really. I don't…. That's… that's all just… insane."

He slowly nodded, "So you're denying all this?"

"Yes! That isn't true! Not true at all! I love Kyle! He's lying!"

"So then what was Ike at your house for last night?"

I paused. "…I… I didn't know that it was him…." I felt myself starting to tear up.

"What do you mean, Stan?"

"…He… he pretended to be his brother. He… I thought it was Kyle…. I swear, I didn't know…."

"What do you mean?" he repeated.

"…The kid is psychotic," I said shaking my head, "I just… he's _crazy_. He told me that he was in love with me and-- I know he's done something to Kyle. He's… he's trying to get rid of his brother 'cause he's crazy and thinks that if Kyle is dead, I'll take him…" I spoke as I was figuring things out for myself. I think the detective could tell this. "…He's crazy. He did something. I know it. I just hope… I just hope that… that… Kyle is okay. That he's not… not…."

"Alright, Son. Alright," the cop said.

"_Please_," I begged, "Please tell me that you're doing something… something to find Kyle…."

"…We're trying. That's why we need you to be completely honest."

"I am! It's Ike that's lying! Talk to him again! Make him tell you what he's done! Make him!"

"…I'll talk to him again."

Neither of Kyle's parents would talk to me as I sat and waited in the living room as the detective was questioning Ike again. I felt terrible for them. I at least knew for certain that Ike was the one responsible. They were in the complete dark as to what happened to their only blood son. The interrogation didn't last all that long, and Ike came out from the kitchen within fifteen minutes, his eyes flooded in tears. The cop called Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski into the kitchen, and Ike and I were alone.

"…Why'd you tell them it was me?" I asked quietly.

Ike said nothing.

"How could you blame me? And what the fuck is all this bullshit about how I love you and am trying to get rid of Kyle?"

Ike bit his lip. He shrugged his shoulders.

"_Ike?_" I yelled, but I didn't really mean to. I couldn't control it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't… mean to get you in trouble… I just… couldn't think of anything else."

I felt so pissed off. I didn't know what was keeping me from strangling him right there. "Ike… I don't know why you-- I just don't understand why you would do this…. Why can't you just tell me? Please…" I turned to look at him from where we sat side by side on the couch. "Please tell me what you did. _Please._"

"…You don't love me?"

"What? No. _Are you crazy?_"

Ike started to cry again. I was really losing my patience.

"Ike! Please! Tell me where Kyle is!"

He sniffed loudly and then wiped at his eyes. "But… last night…. You kissed me!"

"I thought you were Kyle! I would never do anything like that with you!"

His lip quivered and he bit it tightly so that it turned white, as his eyes filled with tears again. "You… you liked it didn't you? I don't understand why you don't--"

"Dammit, Ike! I don't fucking love you alright? You're mental if you think so!"

He started to cry again.

I sighed, aggravated. I felt like I was going to break down because of so much frustration. I only wanted to know if my Kyle was alive or not. How could this kid be so cruel by refusing to tell me what he did. "Ike, please. I don't mean to make you cry… I just need to know if Kyle is okay. Please, just tell me where he is…."

The kid wiped at his eyes and stood up quickly. "_He's dead!_" he shouted. He started to storm off, "_And it's your fault!_"

* * *

**A/N: The final chapter to _Of the Obsessed and Abused_ will be chapter 15. Chapter 15 will then be followed by an epilogue.** **Also, I would like to thank everyone for the massive amount of reviews this story has been receiving. They are greatly appreciated, and I still can't believe the amount of readership I'm getting for this damn thing. And for the first time, I haven't gotten anything negative. (Watch me get a flame now that I've mentioned it, lol.) Thanks for reading so much. I'll get all sappy and emotional on my author's note for the last chapter. Trust me.**  



	14. Chapter 13

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**KYLE'S POV**

**Chapter 13**

He looked tired. His eyes carried entirely too much anxiety and torment than any twelve-year-old should ever be burden with. It hurt me so much. I wanted him to be happy and I wanted to be a good big brother.

What did I ever do?

I guess I should have been there more. I guess I should have gone sledding or played football with the kid more than I did. He was always pretty secretive, but I guess I still had some sort of responsibility, as his brother, to get to know him better.

What's his favorite movie? Favorite song? Color? Dessert? I didn't know any of this. And I felt absolutely horrible.

And look where he left me. Look at what he has done. It was vicious of him. But… I wondered if it was all my fault….

Earlier that day, immediately after school, our mom picked us up from school. I talked to him as soon as we arrived home. He was about to go up to his room, but I stopped him, "Ike?"

He looked at me.

"…Can I talk with you?"

He glanced up the staircase and then looked at me. He turned around and stepped off the first step, onto the floor, "…Why?" he raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"…I just… wanna talk."

We spoke in the hall. It felt more safe there. Our mom was just around the corner, in the living room, and we talked in hushed whispers.

"What do you want?" he sounded both angry and scared.

"…I'm sorry about what happened," I started already hopelessly feeling my emotions getting the better of me, "…I shouldn't have told Stan and-- I've already denied it all with Officer Harris…." I tried to look him in the eyes, but he failed to cooperate. "Ike, I… I don't want you to get caught. I only… I only want to help…." I got a little brave and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Please believe me, Ike."

"Why should I?" he pulled away and shot me an angrier look. "_Why should I believe you?_"

"I… I dunno…." He looked up at me. "Ike, please…. I don't want you to go to prison or-- I don't want anything bad to happen to you _ever_. You're my brother. My only brother. I care about you… and I love you. You have to believe me 'cause I love you."

He looked away and muttered something. I didn't ask, because I was scared to. He looked at me again, "What're you getting at? What do you want from me?"

I was quiet. "I… I just want you to understand that… I won't do anything to hurt you… even though you've hurt me…."

He was quiet. I saw that his eyes wear starting to well with tears. I was already crying. I couldn't help it.

"But…" I said quietly after a while, "You… you don't mean it, right? You don't mean to hurt me… do you?"

He was quiet.

"Ike… I… I'm you're brother. And… and… you know that right? You realize that we're family, don't you?"

He sniffed loudly and shook his head. He kept his eyes on the ground. "I… I'm sorry…. Kyle, I-- It's nothing against you…. It's just… just… I mean… I guess you're a nice guy, but it's just…."

"…What?"

And he suddenly exploded. "_I-don't-understand-why-he-likes-you-when-you're-so-stupid-and-clumsy-and-stubborn-and-repulsively-skinny! And-he-doesn't-even-look-at-me-or-at-least-not-like-he-looks-at-you! And-it-isn't-fair-'cause-I-would-be-a-lot-better-to-him-and-I'd-give-him-everything-you-won't-and-more! And-he'll-never-leave-you-because-I-dunno-why! But-he-won't-he's-like-trapped-and-he-deserves-better! He-deserves-me! But-he-can't-leave-you-'cause-he's-convinced-he's-in-love-with-you-but-he-can't-be-because-I-know-I-would-be-better! But-you-got-to-him-first-and-that-isn't-fair-because-if-I-were-there-first-I-would-have-him! And-I-want-him-and-the-only-way-is-to-free-him-from-you!_"

I blinked at him for a long time, allowing the fast words to process in my mind. "…Wait…you… _like _Stan?"

He nodded.

"…You… you like him?" I repeated in disbelief.

He nodded again. "I'm in love with him," he muttered, "And I know that I'm the one who should be with him. I _know_ that I'm better than you."

I stared at him.

"…No offense," he added.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I was in shock. When I thought why Ike would attempt to kill me, I never saw something like that.

"Do you love him?" he asked.

"…I… I… Of course I do. And… he loves me."

Ike gave a short laugh.

"He does."

"Right."

"…Why do you… like him?"

Ike looked at me. I saw his cheeks turn pink. He looked away.

"…You think he's cute?"

He gave me an angry look, but his cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink.

I tried to smile, "…It's… okay… I don't blame you…."

He rolled his eyes. "It's more than that," he mumbled, "He's… he's… just… perfect." He shook his head, "And he deserves better than you."

I wondered if I should be offended, but I guess because I secretly thought the same-- that Stan could do a lot better than me-- I kept quiet.

Ike sniffed, "Sorry, Kyle… but… I just… I _have _to have him."

"Ike… Stan… he loves me…. _Me._ I mean, he's certain that we're going to spend the rest of our lives with one another and-- Ike, I… I'm sorry… but… Stan… he's… he's not going to love the person that _murders_ me--"

"He will! 'Cause he'll realize that I'm better! You don't know that!"

I sighed. "Ike… you might think he's… cute… but you don't _know _him. He _does _love me. I _know _he does. And… and he just won't… he won't love you… and it's not that there's anything wrong with you! I mean… I bet there are lots of guys who would love you. You're… you're intelligent and… and… you got those big blue eyes… and… and you're a handsome young man…." I tried to show a smile, "You'll have no problem finding your own love. You're-- you're still young and… you got plenty of time…." He looked up at me. "But… Ike, Stan… he's… mine. …I'm sorry."

Ike wiped at his eyes, sniffed, but kept quiet.

"…Do you understand, Ike?"

He didn't look at me.

"Please… I… I just want this to stop. Ike… I had no idea that you liked Stan… I had no idea you liked _guys_. I… I'm sorry. I… I just-- Please. Please understand that killing me won't… solve anything. It won't get you Stan."

He finally looked at me again.

"I just want us to be brothers. …I'm sorry for doing anything that-- I don't mean to hurt you. …Do you understand?"

He stared at me for a while and then slowly nodded.

I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure what I should say right then. I still felt really empty. I stared at Ike, waiting for him to say or do something, but he seemed to be waiting for me to say or do something. I wiped away the tears in my eyes. "…Can I have a hug?"

Ike nodded and moved toward me. I held my breath as I wrapped my arms around him, half of me expecting him to attack me or something. But he hugged me, and I felt so much better. I truly thought that everything was about to come to an end.

"…Ike… tonight at dinner, I think… I think we should--together-- tell Mom and Dad about what's been happening. We won't tell the police but… Ike, you're… you're sick. It's okay! Ike, people get sick all the time! It's okay! Everything will be better! You just need a little help, you understand?"

He didn't say anything as we pulled away from one another.

We were both silent for a long time. I bit my lip. "…You wanna see a movie?"

"…Why?"

I shrugged, "Well, me and you haven't done anything for a long time."

He was quiet. I was about to tell him to forget about the whole thing but he suddenly smiled a little, "Okay."

"'Kay?"

He nodded with a bit more of a smile.

My cell phone rang in my pocket, "Ike… why don't you get the show times then, alright?"

He nodded, and left down the hall, and disappeared.

I reached for my phone in my pocket, "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," Stan said on the other end.

"Hey…." I glanced to see if Ike was gone. He was.

"…Did you talk to him yet?"

"…Uh huh."

"…And?"

"…It's okay… I talked to him and… he's… he's okay."

"…Are _you _okay?"

"…I'm okay, Stan…"

"…Do you want me to come over?"

"…No. …I think that… my family should have tonight alone. I mean, you're practically a part of the family, but… you understand, right?"

"…Yeah."

"…'Kay."

"…Will you at least come over tonight?"

"…Yeah. I will… I'll be there. Promise."

"…Kyle, what happened? Are you sure you're alright?"

"…Yeah, I'm fine. It's just… emotional, you know?" I double checked that Ike was gone. "I… I found out why he… why he was doing it…."

"…Why?"

I saw Ike coming back with a newspaper in his hands. "…I'll tell you tonight. I should go now… I'll be there tonight."

"…Okay. Bye. I love you."

"I love you too. Bye."

* * *

Ike and I saw a movie together that late afternoon. I don't think we were ever alone together for that length of time without our parents there, or enforcing us to do so. It was really pathetic how I was trying to make up for how lousy of a brother I had been all my life. I spent all the money I had at the time on Ike; I got a large popcorn, and every candy bar he wanted, large drink-- my parents would probably be pissed if they knew that I was spoiling the kid's dinner like that. 

During the movie, I couldn't help but notice how nervous Ike was. I mean, I was too. But… I guess I was still unsure of whether or not everything was patched up between us and that Ike understood that killing me wouldn't get him Stan. But Ike had to understand, right?

He was acting really fidgety. Was it because he was uncomfortable around me? …Maybe it was because he had been plotting my murder for the longest, and was suddenly sitting side by side, watching a movie, sharing popcorn, with his ex-target. At least… I hoped that's what it was or was close to. I hoped that he wasn't anxious to… do… something.

No. I had to forget about that. Everything was alright. Everything would be just fine from then on. It had to be.

Towards the end of the movie, Ike excused himself, saying that he had to use the bathroom. I didn't think anything of it, but the movie ended some fifteen minutes later, and he hadn't come back.

I went to look for him, but he wasn't in the bathroom. He wasn't at the snack bar. He wasn't in the little arcade area. He wasn't in the theater anymore. I thought that maybe he had left to wait in the car.

I was starting to get scared. I couldn't tell if I was fearing for my own safety or for Ike's… but I was getting really freaked.

When I left the theater, I saw that the sun had set. It was dark, though I suppose it wasn't _that _dark. I made my way to the car. Maybe he was waiting for me there all along. I got to the driver's side and peered through the window to see if Ike was inside. He wasn't.

As I looked over the hood of the car to see if I could see him anywhere, there was a sudden stinging pain in the back of my ankle. It was sharp. It was quick. I fell to the floor hard with a yelp.

When my head hit the ground, I could see underneath the car, and there was Ike, with a small pocket knife in his hand. I probably would have screamed, but I was afraid of what else he would do with that knife if I did. I tried to scramble away, but it was like I lost the feeling in my leg with the injured ankle.

Ike was then standing there in front of me. I looked up at him, shaking with fear. "_I-I-Ike… Please!_" I then cringed, when I saw that he kneeled down in front of me. He grabbed me by the hair painfully. "_Ike!_" I screamed. He slammed my head into the side of the car, but I had no time to even let myself recognize the pain, because everything went black.

* * *

When I woke up, I felt my head excruciatingly throbbing with unbearable pain. I screamed loudly. It hurt so much. I felt about half of my face sticky with blood. I knew it was blood, because I tasted blood. I couldn't see anything. I felt that my hands were bound behind my back. I couldn't free them. I kicked my feet and I felt them hit something hard. I tried to sit up, but my head hit something hard. 

I was trapped.

Ike just left me… to die.

Where the fuck was I?


	15. Chapter 14

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**STAN'S POV**

**Chapter 14**

"_He's dead!_ _And it's your fault!_"

He had to be lying.

I watched Ike angrily march up the stairs for a while, blinking dumbly, as I was still in shock as to what he said. "_He's dead!"_ … _He's dead? _

And then it was like a big slap in the face. "**_What? Ike!_**" I chased after him.

He ignored me and kept running up the stairs.

I leapt at him, falling hard on my stomach on the steps of the staircase, grabbing hold of one of his ankles, and causing him to fall too.

He kicked at me, "**_Stop! Stop it! Leave me alone! You're mean! I hate you! You're mean! You're a heartless fuck!_**" He was able to kick me in the jaw and get away.

"**_I'M a heartless fuck?_**" I screamed, pulling myself up and chasing after him once again. "**_TELL ME WHERE KYLE IS!_**"

"**_He's dead!"_** He made it into his bedroom.

"**_LIAR!_**" Ike slammed the door in my face just as I arrived there.

"**_He's dead!_**" he yelled from the other side of the door. **_ "You'll never see him again and I'm glad! I'm glad you'll have a broken heart! NOW YOU'LL KNOW HOW IT FEELS, YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD!_**"

I stared at the closed door for a long time. I didn't know what to think. There was this weird vibe that filled the air around me. It was this dark, unsettling feeling. It felt like air, itself, was no longer there. No, oxygen was replaced with something thicker, uglier, and more sinister. Breathing ceased for me. I fell to my knees and let my head hit the door, where it rested as I tried to collect my thoughts.

Kyle was dead?

Kyle… was _dead_?

Kyle-- my best friend-- the boy who changed my life forever--that bright eyed redhead with those blushing, pink cheeks-- who hid behind his fingernails, so bashfully with a sheepish smile-- the only one who ever laughed at my horrible jokes-- that boy I'd hold onto and refuse to let go until he was giggling and kicking with that cute little hysterical laugh--that friend who became so much more… was _dead_?

"_Ike_."

"_Go away._"

"_Ike._"

"_Go away._"

"_Ike_."

"**_Leave me alone!_**"

I was quiet for a while. "_Please. I just-- I just want to talk._"

There was such a long moment of silence, it seemed endless. "_What do you want?_"

I was quiet. I didn't know how to start. Where should I start?

"_Why did you do it?_" Ike said before I could speak.

"Do what?"

There was a pause. I think Ike was taken back by the fact that I wasn't screeching at him anymore.

"You did it on purpose. I know you did."

"…I don't know what you're talking about, Ike."

"Yes you do."

"_No._ I don't."

"You acted like you cared about me. You acted like you liked me--"

"Ike, I never--"

"No! You did! Remember? We had our first day of school and you said I should run for president and you let me stay--even when it was against the rules-- you let me stay and watch you! And you acted nice! And you acted like you cared! You smiled and looked at me! And you made me think… you made me think…" I could hear him crying. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I actually felt a little sting of guilt deep inside me. "_You made me think_…."

"I'm sorry, Ike. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do anything."

We were both quiet. I picked up my head from where it still rested on the door and sat myself in more comfortable position with my legs crossed. "Ike?"

I waited, but he was quiet.

"Ike, please tell me. Tell me where Kyle is."

"I was stupid to think that you cared," he muttered in place of an answer.

I didn't say anything.

"Nobody cares about me."

"…That's not true…."

"…Yeah. It isn't! There is--_was_ someone who did! One person! And he was the only one and because of you--"

"Kyle."

"_You killed him!_"

"_Listen to me, you little brat._" I was suddenly on my feet again. "_Don't you dare blame this on me! I **loved**_--_**LOVE** Kyle! Don't you put something you did on me! How dare you!_"

"_You killed him! You killed him! You killed him!_"

The kid opened the door and I jumped back in surprise a little. Ike's eyes were red and swollen. Nearly all of his face was wet with tears. He threw something on the floor and then returned quickly to his room, slamming the door behind him fiercely.

I knelt down and picked up what he threw down. It was a small pocket knife. I looked at the blade and saw that it had blood on it. I stared at it frozen for a long time. If anything were ever to cause my heart to stop, it was this. It took me a long time to find the words. "Ike… _what did you do?_"

He was quiet.

"_What did you do?_" I repeated with panic evident in my cracking voice.

"_I_ didn't do anything."

I started to cry. I was already crying, but that was silent. That was hidden. I cried then and it was loud and clear. I was afraid. I was terrified. I was unsure of what was happening. I didn't know what to believe. I wanted to think one way, but it suddenly felt impossible. I cried and begged for Ike to tell me what he did. "_Please! Please, Ike! Please tell me where he is! Please tell me what you did! Please tell me…. **Please tell me that he's alive!**_"

But Ike said nothing. After a long time, I heard the kid turn on the television set in his room, and I knew that he wasn't going to say anything. I reluctantly and dizzily stood up and made my way downstairs, out of the Broflovski home, and back home.

* * *

I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling of my bedroom for a long time. It felt long, but I think it was probably longer. It felt like an hour, maybe two. It was probably ten. I don't know. 

That thick and threatening air was choking me even more then. It was hard to keep breathing. It was hard to keep a straight thought.

_It's you word against his, Stan. Go to the cops? They already think it's you. What's your story? The kid killed Kyle and then snuck into your room at night and tried to rape you? This twelve-year-old kid? Face it, Stan. You can't win this one._

_But how am I going to find Kyle? I can't do it by myself. I don't know where to look or where to start or-- I don't know if he's even alive. I don't know if Ike was lying. I don't know anything._

_You saw the blood, Stan. You saw it and you immediately knew. You knew right away that that was Kyle's blood. You knew it._

_But… he can't be dead. He's my Kyle. He's my boyfriend. He's my best friend. He's my lover. We… we were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together. We were supposed to be happy. Forever and ever. Happily ever after. He's not dead. He just can't be._

_He's dead. Face reality. He's dead, Stan. Dead and gone forever. And Ike was right. It was your fault. Your fault. **Your fault**_.

"No…."

I heard the door to my room open. I sat up and looked.

It was Ike.

I saw him and I didn't care. I laid right back down on my back. I knew from the look he gave me what he was going to do. But I just didn't care. _I didn't care._ I didn't fight back. I had given up all hope.

At least I'd have love again.

* * *

**A/N: Remember, the next chapter is the final chapter. A short epilogue should follow.**


	16. Chapter 15

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California.

**

* * *

A/N: So. Here we are. The final chapter to this… thing. I find it pretty surreal. I can't believe that I'm already finishing this fic, but I guess it _has_ been what? Three months? I also just cannot believe the amount of reviews I've received. I really can't. I mean, I don't know if people think that I'm just saying that or whatever, but I truly, just _cannot_ believe how popular this story got. Just… wow. I would really love to thank everyone who read this-- everyone who reviewed-- the fanart I've received is right there in my room and up on my wall-- thank you so very, very, _very_ much. THANK YOU. I love each and everyone of you. Seriously, you would not imagine how a simple review could turn me from tired and stressed, to extremely happy and eh… HAPPY. LOL, it's kinda funny to think about me just like… five or six months ago when I thought I was the absolute shiznit to get FIVE reviews for a chapter. Now… it's so overwhelming. THANK YOU. I really can't say that enough. THANK YOOOOOU. Um, I guess you might want to know what's after this. Well, there will be an epilogue for this story. I'll try and have it up in a week's time. Also, I'm currently about half way done with the first chapter to my next South Park fan fiction: _Pretend_. What is _Pretend_? It's a femslash and it's my next project. I hope you all will give it a shot. **

**Thank you all again. I love you. Now… I suppose it's time to find out how this thing will end, huh?

* * *

KYLE'S POV**

**Chapter 15**

I awoke feeling something damp rubbing against my face. I kept my eyes shut tightly. I was afraid to open them. I whimpered a little as I felt it cross my brow, swiping up the blood and sweat that had stuck to my face ever since I was abandoned in that small, trapped place, for nearly a day's time.

When I opened my eyes and discovered that it was Ike who was cleaning my face with a small, wet cloth, I couldn't help but break into hysterical crying. I rambled nonsense like a crazy person, pleading for him to not do anything, to not hurt me, to not kill me. I wasn't sure if it was all getting through to him, or if actual words were escaping my mouth, but I think my frantic cries got the message through just as effectively.

I started to scream when I saw his arms reaching towards me. "**_No! Please, Ike! No! Please, don't! Please, don't! PLEASE, IKE!_**" He lifted me up and pulled me out of the car trunk I had been trapped inside. I stumbled along as he dragged me around the side and to the backseat of the car, where he opened the door.

"Get in," he said.

I obediently crawled into the backseat of the vehicle; my hands were still bound.

"Lay down," he said after closing the door once I was inside.

I fell onto my back, stretched out on the backseat. I watched Ike get behind the wheel of the car and start up the engine. I had no clue that Ike could even drive. I kept quiet, crying silently to myself. I was so confused and scared. I didn't know what Ike was going to do. I didn't know where he was taking me. I only expected the worse.

"Calm down, Kyle." He sounded so easy and casual. As if he hadn't locked me up for a day-- as if he hadn't tried to kill me.

"Wh-wh-where are you t-t-taking m-me?"

"Home."

"H-home?"

"Yeah."

"…Do y-you m-mean it?"

"Yeah."

I was quiet. I really didn't believe him. How could I? I wanted to. I wanted to so bad. But look at what he did. Look at where I was. It was hard. It was hard to trust him. Could I ever trust him again? Of course… that was if I ever survived.

The car stopped. I watched Ike closely. He kept still behind the wheel, with his eyes staring straight forward, and unblinking. I still shook with fear and by that time I had nearly drained myself of tears.

What was he waiting for? If he was going to kill me, then why didn't he just do it? He was torturing me was what he was doing.

I thought about Stan. I thought about what he was going through. He was probably going simply insane. I thought about how upset he must've been right then. I wondered if he was looking for me. Or did he already assume the worst? What would he do if I died? I hoped he would keep his promise. I hoped he wouldn't do anything to himself-- hurt himself or worse. I hoped he would move one. Move on and be happy.

I hoped he was okay.

I tried to look out the windows to see where we had stopped, but all I saw was blue sky. I found it kind of funny and ironic. Clear blue skies… yet here I was, tied up in the backseat of a car, trembling for my life.

Ike still just sat there. It was endless. His thoughts seemed to be at some other place, and they were the soul thing that held his attention. I wondered if he would notice if I tried to escape. I got brave and sat up. I could then see out the window, and indeed discovered that we were parked right outside our house.

I never felt so relieved and happy to see that house.

I glanced at Ike. He was still staring straight ahead. I scooted a little in my seat, towards the door. When I moved, he looked at me. When those eyes locked with mine, I started to cry again.

He turned in his seat, while reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out a pocket knife. I started screaming. He pressed a finger to his lips, "Kyle, calm down."

I tried to get as far away from him as I could as he climbed into the backseat. I pressed my back up against the door, and tried desperately with my bound hands to feel for the door handle. Ike leaned forward and reached around me. He leaned back, closed the pocket knife, and flung it to the front seat.

I couldn't believe it. He freed my hands. I rubbed my wrists for a while, slowly overcoming the shock. I looked at Ike. He stared at me with a frown.

_Don't fall for it again, Kyle. Here's your chance. Run!_

But I didn't. I _couldn't_. He looked so sad. His eyes were glistening with tears. He looked like he was in pain. A lot of pain. More pain than I ever experienced-- that he ever caused me. "…Ike… what's wrong?"

He started crying. He broke out into tears and flung his arms around me. At first, I was taken back and scared by his sudden embrace, but I soon relaxed. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him back. He cried, burying his face in my shoulder. It really tore at my heart. He was so hysterical, and I couldn't understand what he was saying. I guess that's how I sounded just a few minutes ago.

I tried too soothe him. I petted his hair and squeezed him tightly. It was hard to try and calm somebody, when you, yourself were still crying. "_Ike, shhh…._" My voice was shaky.

"_Kyle!_" he cried loudly. I felt his hold on me increase.

"It's okay…."

He pulled away from me just a little, so that he could look at me. "_There's something wrong with me, isn't there?_"

I blinked at him for a while. "No… Ike, there's nothing wrong with you."

"_Yes! There is!_"

"No. Ike, there's _nothing_ wrong with you." I was quiet for a while. I tried to smile. "…At least not anything more than there is with anybody else. Nobody's perfect, Ike. There's something wrong with everybody."

His cries quieted. I embraced him in a hug again.

"_I'm so sorry, Kyle._"

"…I'm sorry too, Ike."

He broke into uncontrollable crying again. Every agonizing wail gripped my heart with more and more excruciating strength. "_Ike… please. It's okay…._"

"_Kyle!_" his voice was muffled, as his face was buried once again in my shoulder. "_Stan was mean to me! He--he was mean! He yelled at me! And--and he--he choked me! And--and he-- he--_"

"_Oh, Ike…. I'm so sorry. He didn't mean it, I'm sure._"

"_He did! He was mean and he meant it! And it hurt!_" My brother pulled away. He gripped his chest, where his heart was and screamed the most heart wrenching thing ever: "**_It hurt!_**"

And he immediately had his arms tightly around me again. All I could do was hold him. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure how else I could comfort him. I mean, this was all very overwhelming. One minute, I think he's going to slit my throat; the next, he's clinging to my like his life depended on it.

"_He said it was my fault! It wasn't! I only did it because of him! It was **his **fault! Kyle, I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it! It was his fault! All I could see was him! His stupid little cute face! And I couldn't see you! I couldn't see my brother! I couldn't see the only one who cared for me! You're the only one! I only have you! I'm sorry, Kyle! Don't leave me! You're all I got! **Don't let them take me away!**_"

"I won't Ike. I _promise_."

"_Don't let them take me away! Please, Kyle! **Please!**_"

"_I swear. I won't. They won't take you anywhere, Ike. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere. Everything's okay._"

I held him as he continued to cry. It was a little more soft then. He was finally calming down. I still petted his hair and told him "It's okay, it's okay," over and over again.

After a long time, his cries stopped. He still held onto me though, and I still held him. I didn't want to end the moment. I had never been so close to my brother before. Finally. This was over. This was the way things should be.

And then suddenly, I was absolutely frozen. I stopped breathing. I simply forgot to. I didn't even realize it when it happened. I didn't see it coming. Not at all. Not one bit. Never in a million years--another lifetime-- would I see anything like this coming.

But after I overcame the pure shock-- the absolute disbelief, I recognized it. It was a kiss. My ex-potential murderer--my brother--Ike-- had his lips pressed against my own. He was kissing me.

At first, I was still. I was in shock. I kept my eyes closed. I didn't want to open them. I was scared. I just couldn't believe-- I didn't want to believe that what I was feeling, was my brother's lips. I felt him press them more firmly against my own. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to do anything that would upset him. I finally opened my eyes. When I saw it, there was no mistaking it then. I gently pushed him away. His lips refused to let go, and his body fell on top of mine, causing me to fall back against the door of the car. I gave him a little more forceful shove and we finally parted from one another.

He stared at me, looking anxious and scared. He was laying on top of me, with his face just inches from my own. I stared back at him, still not knowing what I should do. "What was that for?" was what ended up escaping from my mouth. I didn't mean to sound so rude. But that's what came out.

"I love you."

I stared at him. I had my mouth open, but nothing came out. I just didn't know what to tell him. I was only able to shake my head. I had to clear my thoughts. I had to get some air. I reached behind me to open the car door, but the child lock was on. I looked at Ike, "Open the door…."

"Aren't you going to say 'I love you too'?"

I shook my head. "…Please, let's just go inside, okay?"

He blinked at me, as if he couldn't believe my behavior. "Kyle…."

"Ike, you're my brother. I love you. But… not like _that_."

He stared at me looking shocked and speechless. I was starting to feel increasingly uneasy and scared again. He had me locked in there. What if he refused to let me go?

But he did. He climbed back to the front seat, got out, and opened the door for me. When I stepped out, he stared at me and those blue eyes that once again pained my heart. I felt so guilty.

"Ike, this… this is confusing. Let me just think, okay? Why don't you go up to your room for now?" I really didn't have to think. No, of course I wasn't in love with my brother. I mean, yes he was adopted. But he was a twelve-year-old kid.

Ike disappeared into the house. I started my walk to Stan's house. I knew that he would be enraged if he found out that I was alive and didn't come straight to him. Despite this disturbing incident with Ike, I was starting to feel a lot better. I started to smile to myself, knowing that I would be able to come to Stan and tell him "Here I am. I'm alive. I love you."

I couldn't wait.

I was reminded at that time of that week when I was sick. That week when I hardly was able to see him. I went so long without his touch, hugs, and kisses. That reunion was so sweet. This one would be better. A million times better.

I went to his window. I knew it would be open. I hoisted myself into the room. I saw him laying on his bed. His back was towards me. I crept over to him quietly. I loved it when I found myself in a situation like this. I loved sneaking behind him and scaring him.

I leaned forward and gently tapped his shoulder.

But he didn't jump with surprise like he usually did.

I shook his shoulder a little, "Stan?"

I felt instantly sick. I crawled onto the bed and gently turned him over so that he was on his back. He looked like he was asleep. His eyes were closed, and he looked peaceful. His hair was a little ruffled, but it wasn't much different than what it usually was. But he also looked discolored. He looked pale. I felt another churn in my stomach.

I shook him a little more, "_Stan?_"

He didn't respond.

I grabbed him by the shoulders and desperately shook him with every bit of strength I had. "_Stan! Stan! **Please! Oh, God! No! No! NO! STAN!**_"

But he didn't wake up.

He didn't respond at all.

He wasn't breathing.

He was gone.

He was dead.

_Stan was dead._

I then felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, and I jumped. I turned around quickly and saw Ike behind me. He glanced at Stan, in my arms, and then looked at me. With a slight smile, as if trying to reassure me somehow he said: "Let's go home."

The end.


	17. Epilogue

**Of the Obsessed and Abused**

A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California.

**Epilogue**

**--**

"_**None of us are saints."**_

_**-- Albert Fish**_

**--**

The cold, smooth surface was still, after nearly four years, the most relieving feeling in the world. Kyle Broflovski was able to spend hours at a time laying on the grave of Stan Marsh, with his head rested right atop the headstone. The cold touch to the side of his face held some sort of magic-- it was reassuring and it healed the habitual aching of his heart.

Four years ago, Kyle had his longtime lover and best friend taken away from him. Stan was discovered dead by Kyle, some two hours after he was choked to death. The murder was committed by a troubled twelve-year-old boy, who only wanted to somehow cure this mystery which radiated from his heart; he was unaware and confused by, what everyone later told him, was wrong.

_Wrong? _A word never puzzled Ike Broflovski so much before. What was so _wrong_? Was it his actions in itself, or were they all referring to what he was feeling?

The killing of Stan Marsh, was viewed by Ike as something maybe a little sad and maybe a little _wrong_ in some respects, but it was also the most perfect action he could have ever committed. After all, if he hadn't done it, would Kyle have ever left Stan freely? No. If Kyle somehow did, Stan Marsh was such a hopeless romantic, he'd be heartbroken and would die an empty soul. No, Ike was doing Stan a favor. Stan died with hope in his heart. He died believing he would receive what he deeply wanted: to be reunited and have Kyle forever at his side. Is that _wrong_?

Brothers. Brothers can't be lovers, because it is _wrong_. That's what Ike was told. He was also told that he was too young. He was too young to understand. That advanced mind he had once been so acclaimed for and that had gotten him so far, was suddenly forgotten. The fact that his brain was the equivalent to that of someone several years older than him simply disappeared. Because now he was just a kid. And even more insulting, he was also "mentally ill." Who decided that he was no longer a genius, but a lunatic? That sudden twist with the labeling of who he was, was what appeared to be the true _wrong_, to Ike Broflovski.

Kyle's relaxing visit was interrupted by the sudden buzzing of his cell phone in his back pocket. "Hello?" he answered.

"Kyle Broflovski?"

"Yes," he sat up abruptly, recognizing the voice on the other end as one of the nurses that cared for his brother. "What is it?"

"You're brother has insisted that I call you to let you know that you are, as of now, twenty-three--" she paused and Kyle was able to faintly hear the voice of Ike in the background. "Excuse me. _Twenty-four_ minutes late to your scheduled meeting."

Kyle checked his wristwatch and indeed saw that his brother was right. "Oh crap. Sorry. Tell him I'm sorry. I'm on my way."

"He says he's sorry and he's on his way," the nurse relayed the message. "…Ike says it's okay."

"Bye. Thank you."

"Goodbye."

* * *

Ike sat alone in his small room. He disliked having to interact with the rest of the teenagers at the institute. He saw them as the truly insane ones. He wasn't crazy. They were. They deserved to be there. Not him. 

He waited, sitting patiently on his bed, for his brother. Kyle visited him once a month for about two hours a visit. His parents visited him as well, but not as frequent. It was only due to the fact that the young teenager only wished for Kyle's visits. His parents' visits were only a nuisance; a reminder that they were people who were responsible for it all. If he was never adopted by them, Kyle and he would not be brothers. And none of this would be _wrong_.

When Kyle entered the room, he was shaking as always. Ike thought it was cute that Kyle was always afraid to start, no matter how many visits there had been over the course of four years. The redhead closed the door behind him and continued to walk to the bed and sit down beside his brother. "Hey."

"Hey."

Kyle stared at his hands which were folded neatly on his lap. "So how have you been?"

"Okay. Lonely," he said with a sigh, "but okay. You?"

"Okay."

"I miss you."

"…I miss you too," his voice shook as it always had when he said those words.

"I only have one more year here."

"I know."

"Do you think… you think that when I get out, I can live with you instead of Mom and Dad?"

"Oh. I dunno, Ike. …I don't think so."

Ike was quiet for a while. "Oh."

"It just-- it wouldn't be in the best interest of things. It just wouldn't be… responsible of me."

"Oh." Ike's eyes fell on the camera above his room. The "hidden" thing that always restrained him. "Do you want to go play some chess?"

Kyle was hesitant, knowing what "chess" really referred to. He nodded. He let his brother gently take his hand and pull him up from the bed, and lead him out of the room. They entered the recreation room, with Ike still leading his brother by the hand. The now sixteen-year-old knew the way things worked in the hospital of which he was imprisoned. He spotted the rotating camera above the room, and as always timed it, so that when it turned the opposite way, he led his brother into the janitor closet, where they would have two minutes before they're absence would be noticed.

To anyone, whether friend or stranger, it was obvious that Kyle and Ike Broflovski were not related by blood. They were bound to one another by something much stronger.


End file.
